


A Mother's Cautionary Tale

by FandomTrash



Series: "I'm sick of this place." - Teenage Years [1]
Category: Percy Jackson and the Olympians - Rick Riordan
Genre: (Percy has a daredevil kink), (nosebleeds, Adrenaline, Alternate Universe - Human, Angst and Humor, Attempted, Father/son bonding time, Jason's Brotherly Disapproval, Made For Each Other, Mild Blood, Multi, Nico Swears A Lot, Nico and Lou brotp, Nico and the gang are basically adrenaline junkies, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Percy's not into it, References to Drugs, Swearing, Teenage Rebellion, Triton is an Asshole, Underage Drinking, Underage Smoking, probably, you get it)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-30
Updated: 2017-07-17
Packaged: 2018-11-06 02:46:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 20
Words: 154,723
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11026983
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FandomTrash/pseuds/FandomTrash
Summary: “There's a woman who said 'A junkie is someone who uses their body to tell society something is wrong',” He started, and I raise an eyebrow at him,“You're an adrenaline junkie, di Angelo.” He nods, that devil-may-care smirk pulling his mouth crookedly, “Now figure out what I'm telling society, Jackson.”We walk through the cemetery in relative silence, excusing the bloodthirsty cries of crows, “Why would you care about society? You're all about running with the wolves.” I mutter.The chuckle he lets out his churlish, “Society'sdead, you'll find. Death's right up my alley.” I find myself realizing, with a foreign, rebellious beat to my heart, that for the first time in my life,I've ignored my mother's cautionary tales.





	1. Goodbye New York - Sup, California?

_"You are a mystery to me, yet so familiar._  
_Like a song I've never heard before,  
_ _and a tune I've known all my life."_

 _-_ Pavana पवन

*

**CHAPTER ONE**

You'll find my mother to be a wary, chary woman; enough tales up her sleeves to keep overly curious children such as myself in line for the entirety of my childhood.

But the most she'll ever warn me about will be the kids. _The Kids_ – the ones who sell you gum in elementary school, scream profanities and get into fist-fights in middle school.

They'll smoke, become the misunderstood sob stories that have every girl or guy tripping head-over-heels for in highschool, only to leave you heartbroken with a wicked grin.

“They'll have the sad eyes, sweetie,” She says , “And smiles that make everything fade away,” She'd had sad eyes herself,“Those types of people trip on the urge to feel alive.”

“Alive how?” I'll ask, to which she'll shrug, “Whatever makes them feel a rush.”

* * *

Sighing, I step out of the car. Poseidon gives me a thumbs up and a breezy smile, “Go get 'em, kiddo.” Ugh – fatherly endearment is something I'm going to have to get used to. Having a mom around for the entirety of my life has made me more attuned to the motherly endearment: _sweetie, honey, darling,_ guppy – love for the ocean comes from both parents, I guess.

The car drives away, Tyson waving to me from the back seat. I wave unenthusiastically, before turning to crane my neck at the unfamiliar building in front of me. The campus is large, with blooming flowers and blossoming trees; a recently rebuilt establishment. Wide windows, three stories, shallow steps leading up to the oak doors. Students milled around in clusters and groups – already knowing each other, already getting along like houses on fire since Freshman year, and probably before.

Crap.

I sigh again, and start walking up the steps; the only reason I'm here early is so I can get a map and my schedule. As I reach the steps, reaching for the handrail, a loud shriek of metal against metal. I snatch my hand away, just as two skateboarders come grinding along and jumping off. The pair were a girl and boy; the girl with short, green hair and a short, plump stature and the boy had a wild head of black hair, tall and slender in figure. They high-fived, screeching to a stop by a tree.

Then, two other people rushed by me. A shaggy-haired blond with dark-golden skin, wearing denim shorts and sandals and a curly-haired boy with a joyous grin, “Dude, c'mon! That was sick!” Who even uses that word anymore? Not me. Curly sprints to the dark-clothed skaters, whilst Blondie huffs to a stop a few steps in front of me.

“Sorry,” He pants, grinning apologetically – arms braced on his knees, “They're excitable.” I nod, blinking a little, “Uh, sure. No problem.” Blondie's voice is southern – more so than California or Florida – so I place him in the Texan category. “Hey,” Blue eyes light up, realization flashing, “You're the new kid, right?” I nod, smiling. “Go find Jason. Tall, bleach-blond, got a scar here,” Texan Blondie runs a thumb down his lip.

“He'll help you 'round; hard to miss him.” With that, Texan Blondie's dashing after Curly and the Punk Pair, the trio laughing at how red he is in friendly jest. “C'mon Solace!” Girl Punk laughs, beckoning him over. Boy Punk is quiet, but he's smirking with dark eyes.

I tear my gaze away, shaking my head. Principal: right. Or...'Jason'? That's what Texan Blondie said – he'd help me around. Probably the face of the school or something. I continue up the stairs, the cacophony of most possibly the loudest group I've ever heard trailing behind me like an echo.

Fate seems to have picked my indecision for me, as I walk straight into a barrel chest clad in purple. The person above me chuckles a little, “Sorry, didn't see you there. Hey, you're the new kid, right?” I have a feeling this is going to be a reoccurring question. I nod, “Uh, Percy Jackson, you're...?” Impossibly tall, deep-blue eyed with a shock of white-gold hair; excellent runner's physique, baring a scar on your lip. Matching Texan Blondie's description perfectly. “Jason Grace. Here, I'll show you to the principal's office.” He says.

“Thanks.” I trail beside him, taking in the way the halls arch, lined with red lockers. He's got a nice ass, I'll give him that. If only he wasn't blond, maybe I'd make a move on him later. Blonds were off limits: Annabeth, Luke – didn't end well. Blonds seem to be my downfall. “How're you liking it so far, Percy?” Jason asks, glasses very close to slipping off his nose.

I shrug, scratching my neck, “...Good, I guess. Nearly got my hand cut off by some skaters.” A fond laugh comes from Jason, and he nods, “Yeah, that'll be Nico and Lou. They were with a blond and brunette, right?” I nod again, “One of them's Texan, I think.” Jason nods, “Yup. Be careful; they're notorious for skating through the halls.”

It's my turn to laugh, a half-snort half-snigger, “Figured. They seem like the rebellious type.” Jason groans, hand down his face, “They are, trust me. But, they mean good; they're good kids, just...” He shrugs, looking a little dubious, “Misjudged.”

Intrigued, I raise an eyebrow. I follow the blond around a corner, inquiring, “Misjudged how?” His purple-clad shoulders shrug again, and I'm starting to notice a pattern among Californians with this shrugging habit (My dad, the few students I saw at the front, the lady at the shop around the corner that sells cookies.) Jason moves his hands around a little, like he's reaching out for imaginary words,

“Labeled, y'know what I mean? Stereotyped.” I nod, making an understanding sound. Jason pulls this happy, charming smile, “I hang out with them sometimes, actually; the black haired one's Nico. I like to think I'm his best friend, but with him, it's sort of hit or miss.” Huh; sounds complicated. I tell him this.

Jason just runs a hand through his hair, bringing me to a stop before a door. There's a golden plaque reaching _Principal/History Teacher Brunner_. Awesome: he's one of those principals that teach classes, too.

The blond knocks, politely peeking through, “Hey, Percy's here.”

Then he pulls away, giving me a thumbs-up, “Want me to show you around after?” I shake my head, “No thanks; I'll just get lost on the way to classes: give me some tardy excuses on my first day.” Jason just rolls his eyes, sighing with a brotherly sort of disappointment, “Fine, fine. Just don't get into too much trouble. Come find me at lunch or something, dude, I'll introduce you to some people.” He holds out his fist, which I bump, and grin, “Sure.”

Then I'm stepping into a cozy office. There's a fan on the man's desk, a few photos up that I don't bother looking at, and a comfortable looking chair opposite the mahogany desk. Behind said desk is a handicapped man in a wheelchair, though producing a courteous smile, “Hello, Percy. I hope you're enjoying things so far?”

I stand a little awkwardly, closing the door with a nod, “Uh, yeah. Lots of trees, pretty flowers.” It would be better if there was a pool. Though I guess it's a good thing my dad lives close to the beach.

The principal folds his hand, “I'm Mr Brunner, in case you missed the sign,” I smile at him, nodding, “And I just want to give you these,” He opens a drawer, sliding across a pamphlet of the school – probably with a few help-lines and some other things for guidance if needed – and a map. I take them; pamphlet in my pocket, map remaining in my hands.

“So Percy,” His tone changes a little, understanding and considerate. I look up, finding him looking a little tentative, “I understand that you recently...switched custodians? A lawsuit, I believe.” I nod, gritting my teeth, “Uh yeah, left my mom in New York, sir.” Brunner nods, sighing a little, but he still held a kind smile – I guess I had that to be grateful for.

“I understand that such a thing is a little hard to deal with, so y'know, there are always people to talk to. I'm not going to lecture you, but just know; if there are any issues – at all – be it somebody picking on you for this recent development, or something entirely unrelated – you tell somebody. We do not tolerate bullying here.”

I nod, genuinely smiling: I like this dude. “Yeah, definitely. Thanks.” With that, he's waving me off, “You'll want to get some of that map into your head before classes start, trust me.”

Jason's still waiting by the door when I step out, but he's leaning out an open window. Raising an eyebrow, I see him reaching out to ruffle somebody's hair, “Just behave, will you?” Jason says, exasperation apparent, in a brotherly way.

The dark hair belongs to Boy Punk from earlier. He's familiar, weirdly, but I can't place it. Dropping it, I walk over with a smile, “Hey dude.” Jason turns and grins at me, “Percy! This is Nico, I told you about him.” I look out the window.

Nico is tall (still shorter than me, thank god this school isn't filled with giants like Jason,) and slender, like I mentioned, but up close you can definitely see that there's a sort of sharpness to his features. His cheekbones, the barely-there elevation of his lips – though it's probably the contrast of pale skin and dark clothing.

“New kid, huh?” Nico smirks at me. I feel my throat close up a little, his voice dark and melodious, underlying with intention to fuck shit up hardcore. I nod, unable to offer anything more. He cocks his head, looking me up and down with crow eyes, before shrugging, “See you around Jason. You too, kid.”

With that, he's kicking off on his skateboard. I totally didn't watch how his skinny jeans hugged his hips as he swerved around a trash can. Totally not.

“I think I've seen him before.” I mutter to the blond. Jason shrugs, “He's got that sorta face, I guess.” Nodding, I watch him catch Curly in a headlock and noogie his fist into the short boy's head. “Just ignore what you hear about them, okay?” I furrow my eyebrows at Jason. He shuffled a little, “They're trouble makers, but they _are_ good kids. I'll see you at lunch.”

He seemed intent to drill that fact into my head.

I wave to Jason as he leaves the hall, ducking around a corner to head upstairs.

* * *

My locker was in between a scary, red haired girl packed with muscle and an Asian girl with long, silky hair and an ego bigger than Neptune. I didn't have much yet, only a few pictures I'd taken from my room this morning. I stick them up with fish-themed stickers. My mom's face smiles down at me, and Grover has ice cream all over his cheek from one hot summer three years ago. I sigh mournfully. I wish he had a laptop – I'd be able to Skype him and complain about California being too hot, enthuse about how close to the ocean I live.

Instead, I shoulder my backpack and close my locker, heading down to my first class: American History.

_What fun._

Let's listen to some teacher that sounds like they want to kill themselves drone on about the Boston Tea Party.

I make my way up to the third floor, brushing past students all the way. A few whispers go by me, as you expect as the new kid, and I'm forcefully shoved aside by Girl Punk and Boy Punk – uh, Nico – racing past. Please don't tell me they're in my class, _please_ don't tell me they're in _my_ class -

They run into the door at the very end of the hall, the one where I'm meant to go into for American History. Shit. The door slams open, the green-haired girl letting out a whoop, “Beat you! How's it feelin', Corpse Breath?!” She jeers. Nico rolls his shoulders, casually reaching to lean against the door frame, “I guess that's an achievement for somebody too short to run the school's marathon, Lou.”

Lou Ellen – slowly slotting that name to match her gently rounded face with moss-green eyes and dyed hair. She gapes up at Nico before tackling him against the wall, “Take that back you fucker!” Though she's laughing, barely trying to throttle him more so than hold her hands there.

“Dog pile!” Comes from behind me, and the air shifts as Curly rushes, making a mad dive through the crowd for the Punk Pair. “Jesus fucking Christ,” I curse to myself. Texan Blondie chuckles, coming to stand beside me, “You called? He's unavailable, but an angel such as myself should suffice.” I find myself snorting at his comment, looking at him, “Oh yeah? Would've thought he's Jesus, considering how those two flock to him.”

Texan Blondie shrugs, scratching his cheek, “Eh. More like Satan's son, but whatever.” He punches my arm jovially, “Solace, by the way – Will Solace.” Nodding, I bump his shoulder, “Percy Jackson.” Will points over to Curly, “That's Cecil, punk chick's Lou Ellen. An', I s'pose Jason's already introduced you to Nico?” I nod, humming, “He's got one of those faces,” I mutter.

He's oddly familiar, like I know him from somewhere. Will isn't much help, just shrugging – _must_ be a southern-state people thing, surely, it's so annoying. “Hey break it up, y'all!” He calls, leaving my side to pull Cecil from Lou Ellen's headlock, who herself is caught with a fist in her hair from Nico.

I find myself chuckling at the bunch, shaking my head; they were going to make my time here interesting, that's for sure.

Walking over, I see Will hold Cecil by the collar of his shirt, whilst Nico's got Lou by her hair still, “And here I thought I trained you better than that. Bad dog,” He teased, letting go of the girl's hair. She smirks at Cecil, turning on her heel and sashaying into the classroom. Cecil remains in Will's hand, Nico quickly disappearing after the girl.

I shuffle in with the Solace-Cecil malfunction of limbs, hesitantly scoping out the classroom. The walls are pale yellow, three windows lined up along the farthest wall. The desk's at the front left, blackboard behind it. The desks are set up in five by five, a few posters from past projects acting as decoration – most of it being Greek Mythology or something.

Nico's taken to the very far back desk by the window. He's got his feet propped up on his desk, Lou Ellen sitting on whatever space there was on said desk that wasn't monopolized by his boots. Will sat diagonal from him, Cecil behind the blond. They're a weird group.

Two punk-rocker kids, a boy made of sunshine and (most likely) the kid that sells you junk behind the school. Lou in her holey leggings, a red, flannel shirt tied around her waist and some heavy-metal tank-top on. Nico with his leather jacket, grungy 'white' shirt and jeans with gaping holes in the knees that weren't there because of fashion, along with steel-toed boots. Will in a cheesy _I'm hot_ shirt with a sunglasses-wearing sun on it and shorts, sandals on his feet with a band-aid on his knee – your classic next-door neighbor look, I guess. Then there's Cecil, freckles all over his face, hoodie practically tailored to smuggle items and jaggedly cut jeans with sneakers.

A very strange group: the punk, the retro cool-kid, the friendly neighbor and the handy kid.

I sigh, signing my fate when Will beckons me over with a hopeful look. Nobody's in the class yet, still another ten minutes until the bell goes. I drag my bag over, taking the desk in front of Nico. Lou grins down at me, “Sup newbie?” I shrug, “The ceiling.” Cecil snickers, “Smartass – looks like he might replace you, di Angelo!”

The reply is instantaneous, “Looks like he has more logic than you, Markowitz.” Cecil rolled his eyes, grumbling to himself, “Whatever. He's nicer than you, too, asshole.” Lou jeers cheekily, “Aww, are you feelings hurt, you big baby?”

Will reaches over, hitting Lou's knee and shoving Nico's boots off the desk, “Hey, stop ganging on Cecil.” I'm somewhat intrigued by the way they communicate. It seemed to be Nico leading the thing, Lou Ellen a close second in the role of playful bully – Will being there to even things out. A gritty combination of sarcasm, wit and genuine amusement. Huh.

With a shake of his head, Will turns to me, “So, just a heads up, you've signed the devil's contract; you're stuck with us, now.” I nodded, sighing, “I figured.”

Lou pouts down at me, “You don't sound too happy about that; what gives, dude? You're hanging with the Queen of Punk and...the rest of these idiots.” A laugh works its way up my throat, “Oh, I apologize, your majesty, I didn't realize that I would be honored with your presence today. Maybe if you acted like a Queen, I'd treat you like one.”

She mock-gasps, hand to her chest, “Why I never -”

“Anybody got a lighter?” Will furrows his eyebrows, “Y'all better not be lighting up in here, Cecil -” Cecil waves him off, “Nah, Nico needs one – I think.” Said boy glances up from searching his pocket, nodding, “Lou pass me your lighter, I wanna squeeze in a smoke before Brunner comes.”

I watch, ruffled, as the girl easily hands the lighter over. Nico pulls a pack of cigarettes from his pocket, takes one out and lights it – simultaneously pushing the window up. Will scowls, “Y'know how awful those things are, right? Organ failure, heart and lung cancer -” Nico waves him away, “Shut it, Solace, I have your lecture memorized by now.”

His dark eyes glance at me, “You're okay with it, right? Not asthmatic or anything?” I shake my head, “No, I'm good. But he is right, just saying.” He shrugs, tilting his head back and taking a puff, “Whatever. I'm dying anyways, why not quicken the process?”

I don't answer, feeling like this is a vaguely nostalgic path I've already gone down with him. Despite me never meeting this guy before – _one of those faces,_ apparently. Lou wrinkles her nose at the cigarette box, “God, why do you smoke the pre-rolled shit; tastes fucking vile on your throat.”

Nico takes a drag, breathing it out the window, “Cheaper.”

I'm quiet, just watching everything happen around me. I'm not used to all the swearing, making my eye twitch a little. Will raises an eyebrow at me, before scowling as Cecil lets out some of his own profanities, “Hey, y'all cut out the cussin'!” I'm glad I'm not the only one disgruntled by the bad language.

Nico flips off Will, though he remains quiet until he's half way through his cigarette. Lou complies, too, scrolling through something on her phone. Will turns to me again, “Bunch a sailors, the lot of 'em.” I nod, chuckling – ironic, I love the ocean and everything to do with it, but I hate sailor talk. “Yeah well, you're more used to it than I am, I guess.” Will nods, reclining in his chair, “Indeed; stuck with these idiots since middleschool, an' all.”

Jesus, that's a long time. “What were they like in middleschool?” I ask, eyes wide with disbelief, “How the hell did you survive them?” I ask, as a second thought. Will snorts at me, leaning back in his chair some more, “Cecil sold gum and forged hall-passes, y'know; the like.” I nod, finding myself already half-expecting that answer. He gestures a little, “Lou provoked a lot of guys into fights, a little mischievous brat -”

Lou scoffs from above him, throwing her hair around a little, “Oh sure, like you weren't helpful in a handful of those fistfights.” Will rolled his eyes, “I was tryina stop 'em.” Lou snickers, kicking Will lightly before turning back to her phone. She's got her earphones in, now, ignorant of everything. Will rolls his shoulders, “Death Prince over there,” He nods at Nico, “Was a disruptive sociopath -”

“Lies.”

“Oh yeah? What 'bout Tanaka?”

“She deserved it,” Nico says this steadily, breezily, as if he isn't discussing something presumably horrific. I raise an eyebrow at the blond, who sighs, “He spat gum in her hair for pickin' on some of the kindergarteners, then ripped a chunk of it out.”

I blink, a little, “Why were you kicking up such a fuss about kindergarteners?” Nico shifts in his chair, squishing the end of his stub onto the windowsill, “She was picking on my little sister.” Note to self: don't mess with Nico's sister. I nod, swallowing roughly, “Oh,” I guess I'd probably flip out of that was Tyson or something, maybe, “Understandable.”

Will shrugs, “Not as bad as I'm displayin' it; they are a bunch of nice kids,” He amends, giving me a solicitous smile. I nod, looking around to Cecil, Lou, Nico; they are an odd bunch, but I don't doubt for a second that they are nice kids. It's just a matter of getting to know them.

I chalk up the bulk of the conversation in the pleasant quiet:

Cecil sells confiscated items, Lou provokes for fun, Nico smokes cigarettes, and Will's the glue sticking them all together. Without will, I have no doubt that they'd have ran a riot by now. Something pangs in my chest, my heart a few times faster than I've ever felt it in a while, and my mom's voice comes to mind.

“ _Those types of people trip on the urge to feel alive.”_

I frown, turning to my desk. Running my finger along the carvings people have dug into the surface, I realize why my heart-rate’s abnormal. I'm not listening to my mom's warnings. These kids I'm with right now? They're the kids she's always told me to be wary of.

Strangely, I don't feel as bad as I should about not heeding her cautioning.

Leaning back in my chair, I sigh quietly, closing my eyes. They're pretty chill without the entire world screaming around them: content enough to just sit in silence and mind their own business. There's the sound of a chair being pushed back, then the moderate tempo of footfalls getting closer.

There's a soft knock on my desk: I open my eyes to find Nico tilting his head at me. I smile up at him, “Hey.” He nods back, offering me a miniscule quirk of his mouth. I notice, upon closer inspection, he's got a scab on the side of his lip and dark circles under his eyes. Most of it's hidden by his messy hair, but the look suits him.

He hops up on the windowsill by my desk, boots resting on the desk as he leans his elbows on his knees, “Where'd you spring from, anyways?” He inquires. I shrug, “New York - “ He nods, like he suspected that; probably my different accent that gave it away, “Uh, moved to come live with my dad and half-brothers.”

Nico hums thoughtfully (I can't help but think he's saving that information to use against me later – he's just got that calculating look,) “What happened to your mother? Did she...” He rolls his shoulders, throwing me a brief _y'know_ look. I shake my head, “No – no, definitely not.” His shoulders relax, “But she lost custody of me in a lawsuit thing - I don't know the details.” Nico hums, rocking back so his head came into contact with the glass, “Who's your father?”

I shrug, “Poseidon Jackson, he's got the fishing business going on.” Nico looks like he's rifling through files, trying to match image to name, then he nods, “My father's friends with him.” I grin, “Awesome.”

Lou snickers, “Not awesome; his dad's terrifying.” Nico's expression turns petulant, “He's not that bad -” Lou leans down behind me, her green hair hanging a little in my face, “He has co-ownership of the cemetery with Charon and runs the morgue in this district.” I furrow my eyebrows, “He can't be that bad. So what? He owns a couple dead-people places.” Cecil cackles a little, “Pfft – Hades is scary perceptive, dude. It's like he can read your mind.”

Will chuckles heartily, “Where'd you think Nico got it from, Curly?” I laugh a little, shaking my head, “Wont believe it 'til I see it.” The dark haired boy on the windowsill sends me a semi-appreciative. “Then you'll never see it,” Lou says ominously, deadly serious, “Unless you're _dead_.”

Everybody's silent. Nico and Will with matching expressions of _shut up, you idiot_. Cecil's half-confused, before he snorts, ruining the silence. “Shut up, you idiot,” Will sighs, turning back to me with a fond exasperation. Nico moves like lightning above me, and I barely catch the movement of him socking Lou in the arm. She whines, rubbing it, “Mean!”

“Blockhead.”

“Numbskull.”

“Moron.”

“Jerk.”

“Jackass.”

“Dipstick.”

“Dweeb.”

Will groaned loudly, “Knock it off, the pair of ya!” Lou flails her feet, “He started it!” The blond runs a hand through his hair, “I'm finishin' it!” Nico grins impishly at Lou, almost sneering, “Suck it.” Lou hisses at him, making me cower down in my desk a little as they scuffle above me. “Asshole.”

Nico leans forward, still grinning, “Bitch.” Lou puffs up her chest, “Queen Bitch, thanks for noticing.” Cecil throws a wad of gum at Lou, the pink mess slapping to her skin wetly, “Ew – you fucking bastard -” She's jumping from Nico's desk, a loud crash resounding as she collides with Cecil. I startle, turning to Will, wide-eyed. He's shaking his head, glaring at the ceiling as if to ask, “Why, god, why?”

Nico walks off of my desk, strolling over to the pair and watching with equanimous interest. 

”When I say he's the Devil's incarnate, I didn't mean literally.” I turn back to Nico, who pulls out another cigarette and lights it, observing like the scuffle of Lou and Cecil like it's an everyday occurrence. It probably is.

I hum, flinching a little when Cecil bites down on Lou's arm. Nico shifts, “Break it up, bell's going at any second now.” Just as he finishes, the bell rings. Lou reluctantly releases Cecil, who scrambles back into his chair. Lou grabs her backpack from Nico's desk and walks over to sit to the right of Will.

Nico saunters back to his desk behind me, boots thumping back onto his desk. I wonder if there are indentations of his heels in the wood yet. A few seconds later, the other twenty students started trickling into the room, herded by Mr Brunner in his wheelchair. The man wheeled up to his desk, whilst the students took their seats around us.

Mr Brunner smiles at the class, waving politely, “Good morning, all. Get your textbooks out, page twenty-seven, if you will...” His hazel eyes glance over to me, then my empty desk, “Mr di Angelo or Mr Solace, if you'd mind sharing?” Nico's heavy textbook is hurled at me, a strange arch-around movement as he threw it around my arm. It lands on my desk with a thump. “Thanks,” I mutter.

There's no reply, but Mr Brunner nods at the boy behind me. I open up to page twenty-seven, then immediately regret I didn't bring my green-sheet with me. Not that it helps me much. I stare down at the words that start swimming and squirming on the page, the letters starting to blink in and out of existence. Roughly, anyways.

I sigh quietly, cursing myself under my breath. Will raises an eyebrow at me, before pulling the textbook Nico lent me to the back, where a ragged-edged green sheet stared up at me. I blink, before nodding back at Nico, “Dyslexic?” I mouth. Will nods, “Just doesn't use much.” The wear and tear along the edges of the plastic tell me otherwise, but I nod, “Thanks.”

I pull back to page twenty-seven and slide the sheet onto the page. As Mr Brunner talks, I hear sounds from behind me, like a pen digging into the desk. My eye twitches a little – the sound's distracting me – so I turn to find Nico drawing on the wooden surface.

Lou's starting to roll up paper, chewing on something – I have a feeling she's going to spitball somebody. Cecil's muttering with another student, who passes him a sum of cash in return for Cecil slipping them them a zippo lighter. Will's reading along while a student up front summarizes the past few lessons. I should be able to catch up fast.

Voices start popping up behind me, a vulpine pair of chuckles practically a give away to something bad. Mr Brunner gently tells the speaking student to pause, furrowing his eyebrows a little as he looks to Nico and Lou, “You two better not be starting trouble.” Lou opened her mouth, but Nico sighed, “Nothing more troubling than Tanaka's fake extensions.” An indignant squawk comes from up front, and the girl with silky hair shoots from her seat, “They're realer than the jewelry your sister wore to picture day!”

I duck as Nico snatches Lou's paper-roll and spits his gum into the end of it, shooting it across the room all in one fluid movement. 'Tanaka' shrieks as it comes into contact with her hair. The Punk Pair and Cecil cackle at her sound, Mr Brunner looking unimpressed with the turn in events.

“Want me to rip out your extensions, too?” Nico calls. He holds a callous smirk, mockery in his eyes. I'm stuck between telling him to cut it out and laugh at his argument. Will looks over his shoulder and sends Nico an _are you serious_ look. Or rather, _are y'all serious?_

I'm sorry, that's probably mean.

Mr Brunner clears his throat, “Both of you outside my classroom, we'll discuss this in a minute.” He turns back to the class, waving his hand, “Read up and take notes if necessary, my absence will be temporary.” With that, be beckoned for Tanaka and Nico to follow him as he wheeled out of the classroom. Nico stood up breezily, high-fiving Lou and flipping off Will when he shook his head at him.

Nico glances at me, and I only shrug, “What can you do?” I guess that's the right answer, because he huffs amusement at me.

Everybody watches as Tanaka tries to trip up the taller boy, only for him to grip her hair and tug. He comes back with a clump of hair that came from her head far too easily. A few giggles fire up as she lets out another shriek. Nico drops the extensions on her head and exits the classroom.

Chatter builds up, and Lou lets out a shrill of laughter, “Shit – did you see that? That argument's never getting old.” Will runs a hand through his hair, rolling his eyes, “Stop encouraging him, Lou.” The girl kicks Will's chair childishly, “How can I encourage him when he isn't even in the room, cowboy?”

The blond rolls his eyes, then reaches over to smack Cecil's arm, “Stop dealing drugs, you.” Cecil groans, rolling his eyes, too, “Whatever, Solace. And it's not drugs – you know I don't do that crap. Just cigarettes and gum at the moment. Maybe a porno mag.”

I laugh a little, turning in my chair, “Hey Will?” He turns to me, a smile on his face despite his annoyance, “Sup, Percy?” I pull up the withered green sheet, “So...if Nico doesn't use it much, why is it so...?” I shrug, gesturing to it.

Lou leans over, swiping it from my hands and pulling it against her hair. It nearly blended. “He used it a lot more in elementary -” I guess she's known Nico longer than Will - “Loved reading up on dorky cards and Greek Mytho junk.” Will tutted, “Don't be like that – people can like what they want.” Lou just snorts, but she's grinning, “Cecil used to like stuffed bears.”

“Still do.”

“Whatever, you big baby.”

I hum, looking around, “This happen in every class?” Will sighs, “Mostly. Not much productivity with this bunch in the room.” There's yelling from behind the door – Tanaka – and a cool retort followed by a chuckle – Nico. Mr Brunner mumbles something, placating.

“Who's that Tanaka girl, anyways?” I inquire. Cecil scoffs, “Ugh – Drew Tanaka. Might've heard of her; big-shot dad loaded in cash, mom touring Paris?” I nod; my mom hated her – spoiled brat, attention whore. Not in those words, but close enough.

“We've just had the unfortunate luck of dealing with her kindergarten through highschool.” I laugh at the hanging motion Lou makes as she says it. Will sighs, closing his book, “Looks like I ain't gonna be focusin' for the rest of the hour.” 

* * *

The next few classes were pretty similar; kicking up fuss and generally having fun, which I find sort of a dodgy combination during study hall, but eh. Mr D's pretty cool (we all know that's white wine, not apple juice, in your bottle, sir.)

Now, it's lunch period. I wander through the halls, Will and the gang outside in the parking lot. My eyes are peeled for Jason, or anybody else familiar, but ultimately end up shuffling in the cafeteria lunch-line before wandering out to the parking lot. Something tells me Jason will be hanging around with them.

I simply follow the shriek of metal on metal, loud jeering and bickering.

Turning the corner, I'm greeted by carefully painted guidelines on concrete, trees starting to sprout up as the parking lot turned into the other side of the field. I spy Lou's vibrant hair over by an open window, of which I recognize is near Mr Brunner's office. There's a familiar, purple-clad blond in the open window, a shaggy blond leaning up against the wall. Cecil is with a pair of...twins...passing something around under the shade of the trees as Lou and Nico fucking around on skateboards around the parking lot

I hesitantly make my way over, apple in my hand. Will's the first one to see me, waving cheerfully, “Percy! Welcome to -”

Lou jams to a stop before me, grinning, “Fucked Up Central! FUC for short.” I laugh at her, “Either way, that title is horrible.” The punk shrugs, then grabs my wrist and tugs me over to the rest of them, “Those two assholes are Travis and Connor, by the way. The Stoll Brothers.” I nod at them, who grin at me with clear eyes. I realize that what Cecil is passing with them is a cigarette – though if it's weed or not, I'm not sure.

Nico's stopped up by the window with Jason and – a girl. She's got olive skin and a black braid, a similar pair of raven eyes that belonged to the boy beside the window. Lou shoves me jovially, nodding at Jason and the girl, “Hey Golden Boy, introduce your beard to the newbie.” The girl smirks, though she's still semi-stoic. She's intimidating, I'll give her that.

“I can introduce my self, Ellen,” Her voice is calm, clear, smooth. At least that's something reassuring, “I'm Reyna,” She holds her hand out through the window, “Jason's my boyfriend.” Not _I'm Jason's girlfriend_. It's clear who's the balls of this relationship. I shake it, undeterred by her grip. “I'm Nico's sister by heart, too, so watch your footing.”

Something tells me that siblings were just a big _NO_ with Nico and his family. I nod, pulling my hand back, “Don't worry, I'm not here to hurt anybody.” Nico flicks cigarette ash in Reyna's direction from his cigarette, “Shut it, you guard dog. I'm perfectly capable of -”

She bats away his waving hand, raising a joking eyebrow, “Of what? Jumping from the second story, of breaking every rule in the school? Don't worry, fratello, I'm aware.” Nico hunches his shoulders, crossing his arms defensively, “Shuddup Rey, nobody asked you.”

I laugh, which makes him duck his head, but everybody else joins in, so I guess I'm not in the wrong. The sun's shining brightly down on us all, and I keep having my gaze brought to Nico as the conversation progresses around me. Jason hugs Reyna close by the waist, she smiles and I find them familiar in the way a Power Couple would stand – powerful and strong in the face of the world. Lou...she's this embodiment of thrill, pulling kick-flips and all sorts of tricks as she circuits around the parking lot, yet throwing a back and forth rally of quips with Cecil, who's getting baked with the twins. They themselves seem mischievous, tricksters in a notorious fashion. Will's head is craned to the sky as he quietly soaks up the sun, like he's been made to do that all his life, and Nico?

Nico's the off part; the jagged edge to all the soft blurs around me. It's like he's filtered differently, he's been cut from a black and white photo, stuck over this one. The world around him is just harshly cut, a misshapen hole for him to fit in. I enjoy the way his dark eyes hold hospitality, and that his smile holds animosity for something beyond them.

But the more I look at this group – the more I find myself filling spaces, slotting information together to create an almost scrap-book like image of them all. It's all just garbled words around me; the main things I notice are the ambiance – it's so loud, so vibrant and alive – it's like those video games where there's soft music in the background, and that's all that's really needed.

I'm brought back by Jason waving in my face, “Bro – you with us? You spaced out on us for a sec.” I blink, grinning, “Uh yeah, fine.” Lou sidles up beside me, “Hey, you gonna eat that, man?” I look down at my apple, before handing it to her, “Nah; have it.” She whoops, chomping into it, “Fuck yeah – these are, like, the only good food the cafeteria sells.”

Reyna hums, “That may be because they're home-grown _by_ the school; possibly the only fresh thing here.” Juice dribbles down Lou's hands messily as she devours – yes _literally devourers_ – the poor fruit.

“Well, it's the healthiest thing, too,” Will agrees, scratching his nose. Nico takes a drag, the smoke coming out of his mouth with his next retort, “Lou, quick – eat more apples and you'll have Doctor Sunshine off your ass within a day.” She snickers, then chokes, but continues eating. I smile at it all, turning to see a car pull into the lot.

It's a beat-up jeep with a rusty bumper and the doors missing – it's more like a really big golf cart. There's a thin man with hazy eyes at the wheel, with an iconic chauffeur hat on his head with a button-up that has rolled up sleeves. Jason scrunches his nose, “Dude, isn't that Jules-Albert?” Nico nods, suspicious, until his phone vibrates. Will snorts, “God, is your dad pullin' you outta school for an impromptu body dump?”

Nico bats him away, pulling out his phone. I look at anybody for an explanation. Reyna shrugs, “Jules-Albert is a family friend, basically the family chauffeur if we're being honest. He gets paid by Hades to help him get around the city when his car's broken down, the hunk of junk.”

Nico scowls, “It gives it character, Rey. Not that you'd know what it is: you're as emotional as drywall.” She shrugs, receiving a kiss on the cheek from Jason, “My stoic piece of drywall.” Aww – I gotta admit, it's sorta cute, no matter how much I want to gag. Lou's got that covered for me, it seems.

Nico sighs, readying his skateboard, “Dad says I need to pick up Hazel -” Everybody made confused sounds, and he rolled his eyes, “She's got a dental appointment, and he's got a corpse in the morgue that needs prettying. I'll be back for fifth period or something.”

Lou snorts, bumping his fist, “You'll fuck around a little longer than necessary and spoil your princess, you mean.” Nico shrugs, kicking off with a delinquent grin, “What can I say? You have a princess, you gotta spoil her.” Reyna huffs, “And where's my spoiling?”

To that, Nico calls, “The queens spoil the princes!” He jerks a thumb at himself, as if it wasn't clear indication. Reyna barks a laugh – something I honestly (guiltily) thought she wasn't capable of - “Oh whatever, you brat!”

Nico dumps his bag and skateboard in the back of the jeep, holding onto the roof as the vehicle reverses, “I love you too, icy bitch!” I smile, waving after him with the rest of the group. He's quickly a stick figure hanging off the side of the jeep as they drive away in the direction of the sun.

Lou cackles, leaning down to pick up an item, “He left his cigarettes. I guess I'll -” Reyna swipes them, “Hand them to me? Why thanks, Ellen.” The shorter girl clucks her tongue, “Took the words right outta my mouth.” Reyna doesn't pocket them, like I thought she would, “Who's seeing Nico later? Not Lou or Cecil, appreciably.” I raise my hand, “Uh, I think I have him last period.”

Will nods, “We got bio-chem, I believe.”

Reyna hands the cigarettes to me, “Just don't get caught with them. If you got a secret pocket in your bag or something, keep them in there.” I nod, shoving them in the mess of new textbooks I have in my bag, “Sure. So fifth period?” Will nods. Lou groans, “Am I _that_ untrustworthy?” She pouts at the dark haired girl, and simultaneously, everybody replies, “Yes.”

The punk rolls her eyes, grumpily, “Whatever, I hate you guys anyways.” I frown, “Even me? I gave you my apple.” Lou throw the core at me, “Being generous doesn't spare you.” I sigh, shaking my head, “Well, I'll keep that in mind in future.” Lou smirks at me, moss-green eyes holding something serious underneath all the teasing, “You've got a lot to learn.”

Yeah, I guess I do.

* * *

I didn't see Nico at during bio-chem, but Will said it was normal, if he was ditching. He'd still be by after school, though, since he and the gang were going to McDonald's or something. A tradition, he'd told me.

So that's why I'm here now, walking out with Will, to find Nico waiting at the front with a little girl. Reyna and Jason were already there. I took my time looking at the little girl – ten at most, it seemed. She had a popsicle in her hand; she has dark skin, a head of curly hair – much curlier than Cecil's, and more of a red-brown hue. It may just be the sun, but her eyes appeared golden.

Will waves at them all, declaring our appearance, “Y'all, I got Percy with me!” I'm glad they haven't come up with a nickname yet, aside from newbie. Though, I know that'll wear off by next week. I remember Annabeth and Grover dubbing me Seaweed Brain, or Kelp Head, and not knowing why. She used it in a dumb-person sort of way, and he used it as a joking manner that I wasn't exactly happy with.

Though, with this wild, diverse bunch, I'm sort of fearing what they're going to name me.

Nico's lacking his skateboard this time, but I find it sticking out of his backpack. Jason grins, “Sup guys! Are Lou and Cecil coming, or..?” I shake my head, “They have after-school stuff.” Will nods, “Band practice for Lou, and Cecil's...uh, in the chemistry labs.”

“Probably getting high,” Nico chuckled.

The small girl smiled kindly at me, waving enthusiastically, “Hello, new kid! I'm Hazel, Nico's lil' sister.” She tugs Nico's hand with her, “Nico, look – he's got Poseidon's eyes.” I find myself confused by her statement, blinking a little and awkwardly reaching for my face. Nico snorts, “Yeah, he's Poseidon's kid.”

Hazel stops short, looking me up and down, then lights up like a light bulb, “Oh! _You're_ Percy! Cool!” She hugs me briefly, “Welcome to Riverside.” Everybody's chuckling, but I feel out of the loop for the first time today. Nico tugs me over to walk beside him, bending low for Hazel to get on his shoulders, “Y'know, my dad, your dad – friends and whatever, talks about you a lot. Though, he talks about everything a lot – your dad's a talker.” I nod, humming, “What's your dad like?”

Hazel grins at the same time as Reyna and Nico, “Deadly.”

Will and Jason are unfazed by this occurrence, but I'm stuttering in my footing and shaken, “...O-Okay. Anything else or just _deadly_?” Hazel hums, busying her hands in Nico's hair, “Big teddy bear.” Reyna shrugs, “Listener, not a talker.” Nico coughs into his hand, wiping it on Hazel's leg, who makes an _eeeeww_ in response, but doesn't seem too bothered, “Busy.”

I furrow my eyebrows, “So Reyna,” She raises an eyebrow at me coolly, “Do you live with these two, or...?” She shakes her head, but Jason groans, “Might as well do – you're never home when I go over!” She smirks, “Duties call: I gotta babysit this lunatic in case he stage-dives from the roof again.” I'll have to ask about this event that keeps popping up.

Hazel's braiding Nico's hair, I realize. She's got an endless amount of colorful loom-bands in her pocket, and she's got them ringing her fingers – ready to tie up braids in her brother's wild hair. I wonder how she's so easily prying his hair apart. Probably from practice.

Will holds a hand out when everybody moves to cross the road, rolling his eyes, “There's a cop car parked outside the diner, y'all really wanna get charged for jay walkin'?” I turn to a little diner at the end of the street, and raise my eyebrows, “Shit, I didn't see that. Not many cops just walking around New York. People just sorta walk, regardless.”

Will sighs, nodding, “This is sleepy-town Riverside, California with lil' to no action, Percy. You fill in the blanks.” I chuckle easily, looking to the right, along with the others. We cross without much issue after checking we _were_ on a pelican crossing. Hazel tuts, shaking her head, scolding playfully, “Honestly! You'd think you're all a bunch of delinquents!”

I chuckle, and she pats my head, “At least Percy here has an excuse.” The remaining three teenagers give her lovingly vacillating looks, “Sure, Hazel. Okay.” She winks down at me, mouthing, “I got you bro.” I give her a thumbs-up.

We walk a little more, until we come up to a retail park with McDonald's centered between Costa and Starbucks. A Taco Bell was further on the left, then a small Ralphs – whatever that was, I guess it was a Walmart sorta thing – nearly hiding on the right.

* * *

I wonder a lot of things during the few hours I'm with these people. Hazel's a little bundle of joy, helping keep the conversation alive as she munches half of Nico's fries, along with her own. Reyna and Nico share looks over her head, the way only siblings can do, and that's one of the things I wonder;

Siblings are strange, to me. I guess hanging with Hazel is going to prepare me for Tyson when I get home, and since Triton's not around all that much, I wont have to deal with him for a while. Jason's like an older brother, but a more in-touch one that'll actually give a damn about you. Triton's just a dick. A big dickhead. Wait, no, that'll be complimenting him. Crap.

Anyways. Will's just the most awesome cowboy next-door neighbor ever, and I'm just digging him accent. He's charismatic, too, also holding up a third of the conversation between him, me, Hazel and Jason. I also wonder about this group – whilst they bunch together and work like a hive-mind, they also wander off into their own interests and activities that aren't exactly shared with the group. I don't see much of that, and it's just intriguing to watch how everybody's _okay_ with it.

You don't always have to come along on group adventures; you're free to do your own thing if you're not up for it. I didn't seem to have that option back in New York. I love that feeling of freedom down here, and maybe I'm not so mad that I got moved anymore, but I still miss my mom. I'll be sure to call her tonight or something.

My phone vibrates, and I pull it out: my dad's texted me.

Poseidon sent:

_Hey kiddo!  
_ _You mind starting to head home now?  
_ _I'll let you stay out later tomorrow, but y'know.  
_ _It's your first day, I wanna hear all about it!_

At 05:32 PM.

I sigh, groaning a little, “Uh, I'll see you guys later. Dad wants me home.” Nico raises an eyebrow, turning to Reyna. She glances at her watch and nods. Hazel whines, “Aww, but I don't want us to go yet! I thought we were having bonfire beach night!” Jason chuckled, “That's Friday, squirt.” She pouts, picking at the sleeves of her too-big hoodie.

It's clearly not hers; far too big, black, and full of skeletons. She's borrowed it from Nico, I can only assume, since it doesn't match her watermelon-patterned shirt or shorts. I get up, Will sliding out of the booth to let me. Everybody else gets up, “Well, I'll see you later -”

“You'll see us until you get home, silly!” Hazel says. Oh, I get it: my dad must live across from them. It would make sense – across the street is a rundown, black SUV that Reyna was talking about.

Jason and Will nod, “We'll see you tomorrow; sunshine owes me an Avengers marathon tonight.” Reyna snorts, “We have a pop quiz tomorrow. Don't stay up too late.” With that, I part with Reyna, Nico and Hazel whilst the blonds walk off towards the bus stop.

* * *

Hazel, for the majority of the walk, has been riding the tail end of Nico's skateboard as he lazily kicked along the sidewalk. Reyna walked on the other side of him. It was quiet, and I find myself wondering about that, too: it was okay that there wasn't conversation – everybody was comfortable in their silence, knowing that there wasn't always need for it.

That seemed to be a thing in the relaxed state of California; in New York, nobody knew when to shut up. I'll have to get used to that, and get over the awkward reeling in my stomach when I'm scrambling for something to fill the silence, only to realize it isn't needed.

The trio wave to me as we split, Nico dragging Hazel across the road with Reyna as I hop up the steps to my dad's house. His blue CR-V Honda's still in the drive, and I can see the television playing in the living room. I sigh, and open the door.

“Percy? That you kiddo?” I hear my dad call. I feel more inclined to call him Poseidon, but I don't know if that'll be rude or not. Or weird. Take your pick. “Yeah,” I call back, peeking into the living room. Tyson's enthralled by Sesame Street reruns, and there's lack of Triton or Poseidon in there, so I head to the kitchen.

My dad's a lean man, dark hair and stubble, with eyes almost exactly like mine. I don't know if that scares me or not, considering Tyson doesn't look much like him. He's leaned over the skillet, stirring eggs around with a few dollops of butter. He grins at me breezily, winking, “Hope you like breakfast for dinner.” I shrug, “If you dye it blue, I might consider.”

Poseidon gives me an odd look before shrugging, “You're as quirky as your mother: I like it.” I wince, but turn to head upstairs. He's calling me the minute he hears my heel turn, “Hey, hold your horses, kiddo! How was your first day?”

I internally groan, but trudge to sit on the counter, “Good, I guess. Met a buncha kids – they're pretty cool.” He raises an interested eyebrow, “'Kids'?” I nod, “Lou Ellen, Will Solace, Cecil Markowitz, Jason G-”

“Jason Grace, Reyna Avila Ramírez-Arellano, Nico di Angelo, right?” I blink, nodding at him. He chuckles, “Those two are always at the di Angelo's residence. You get to know a few familiar faces if you're out enough.” I nod, deciding not to question it. After all, Nico did say that our dads were buddies or whatever.

I sigh a little, swinging my legs. Poseidon hums, “Just...don't let them drag you into anything, okay? They mean well, but they're a rowdy lot.” I chuckle, nodding, “No denying that.”

“Well, I guess I'll let you go for now, but I'll call you down for dinner -”

“I ate at McDonald's with the guys and Hazel.” He nods, “Okay, well, I'll call you down anyways. There's desert afterward.” I hum, before getting up from the counter and heading up to my room.

I let out a breath I wasn't aware of holding, leaning back against the door, “Jesus.”

“You called?” I shriek, flailing my hands as I topple against the door again. Nico was at my window, casually with his chin on his folded arms. There's no way he was standing on air, “What the hell, dude?” He just grins, “I was thinking you could join us on Friday for bonfire beach night.” I nod, fear forgotten easily, “Sure. That sounds fun. When?”

Nico shrugs, with slight difficulty, “I'll swing by here on the way. Bring Tyson, if you want; We're bring younger siblings and older or whatever. It's normally a local thing, so half the town's teens are gonna be there.”

I furrow my eyebrows, “That's a lot of people...” Hesitant, I mutter.

He hoists himself up to sit on the windowsill, “Yeah, but nobody said you had to socialize with _everybody_. Everybody's got people to hang with, or you can just sit wherever and make it obvious you don't wanna talk, s'all.”

That soothes me a little. I nod, starting to smile, “Okay, sure. I'll see you then.” He rolls his dark eyes, giving me a smirk, “You'll see me more often than that, dumbass, if you don't learn to lock your windows.” With that, he hops down from the window – me idly worrying if he broke a bone – before I catch him vaulting over the meter-tall fence and crossing the road. I chuckle, waving to him as he climbs up to what I guess is his bedroom.

It should be worrying that I don't find it strange that a kid I met today just randomly climbed into my room.

Falling back on my unfamiliar bed with foreign bedding, I let out a bigger sigh. There's something about them – about _him_ – that just has me running with a constant feeling of déjà vu. It may just be because his style is iconic to that of those Nu Goth models you see everywhere, or the Greasers from cheesy 40's movies. But...something tells me it's not that.

I guess I'll never know. I find myself being okay with that.

Nico's one of _Those Kids_ – bad kids, swearing, smoking, rebellious and lusting for adventure. He's got the attitude down; the smirk, the eyes, the mysterious air that lures you in like a Venus Fly-Trap. And I'm a small bug compared to him, to his nebulous and weighty aura, to the confidence in the way he stands, and I'm eerily calm in the face of his mighty jaws ready to snap on me.

He's everything my mom warned me about, and, again, I find myself uncaring.


	2. Long Days, Longer Nights

_"Anything that gets your blood racing  
Is probably something worth doing."_

\- Hunter S Thompson

*

**CHAPTER TWO**

She sits on my bed, hand brushing wrinkles from the old fabric (I pull my feet to my chest to avoid her touch,) “They run with wolves, sweetie, too fast for you to keep up. They'll leave you to the dust.”

I sigh, nodding.The topic is all but exhausted by now. I've heard this a multitude of times now. My mother catches my eyes, serious, “Sweetie, I don't want you getting hurt. If you ever meet them, stay away.” I nod.

That's all I'll do: nod, because it isn't a promise to anything, it isn't even a guarantee. I'll nod – she can't use her words against me. She's like a lawyer in that sense. She says, “I don't want you getting caught up in all that.”

Shrugging, I nod again, “I know.” I can say that, at least, to sooth her worries. it's not a complete lie, anyway. She catches my eyes again, “They'll do things that look fun, honey, but really? It's dangerous and scary.”

I feel guilt in my gut, boiling with rancor, “I know, mom.” I'll find out on Friday, after all.

* * *

I woke up to Tyson's insistent knocking, then I'd gone downstairs for breakfast, and now I'm getting out of the car. Poseidon rolls down the window, “Hey kiddo,” Ugh, “Just text me if you're going out tonight, okay?” I nod, waving a little more enthusiastically to Tyson as they drive away.

The sun's as bright as yesterday, the trees are swaying, students idle and gravitated to their own groups. It's the same, nothing's changed: except this time, I'm not anxious. My palms aren't clammy, I don't feel a pressure to make friends – people came to me easily enough, and I'm happy to have them.

There's bickering, as I turn from the stairs, and I find Lou and Nico strolling towards me, “Dude, where the fuck did you put my cigarettes?” She groans, “I told you – Percy has them! See,” She gestures to me, grinning, “Just ask him for them.”

Nico raises an eyebrow at me, looking irritable, “Gimme,” Is his greeting. I snort, rummaging in my bag for the cigarettes, “Here. Sorry I didn't get them to you yesterday.” He shrugs, taking one from the box and lighting it up. Lou rolls her eyes, beckoning for me to follow, “He's grouchy without his morning cigarette or coffee. If you couldn't tell, he's had neither this morning.”

The dark eyed boy breaths smoke, then offers me a more characteristic smirk, “It's fine, by the way; just more torture for Lou in the morning, so I guess I can thank you for making my day somewhat amusing.” I grin.

He punches my shoulder lightly, Lou hip-checking me on the other side, “What've you got first period, Shark Bait?” _Shark Bait._ I blink at her nickname, “What?” Nico sighs, reaching around me to flick her head, “Don't. I told you he wouldn't like it.” The green-haired girl scoffs, “Your new nickname. Shark Bait.”

“Oh,” I mutter. I like it, honestly. It's better than _Seaweed Brain_ or _Kelp Head_. Nodding, I grin, “No, I like it; how come?” Nico rubs his neck, “Finding Nemo – that scene where's he's initiated into the...” He rolls his wrist, takes a drag, “Cult, I guess. Except – y'know, we're not a cult. Just -”

“Fucked in the head.” Lou supplies. I laugh at both of them, “That's cool. Shark Bait – that's...creative, I gotta say. How'd you know I liked fish-themed junk?” Nico gave me a look, then rolled his eyes, “Your dad's Poseidon, dude.” I nod, because he has a valid point that explains itself.

We walk up the steps, and I ask, “Where're the other two?” Lou shrugs, “Cecil's off with the Stolls right now, and sunshine is...” She points at the doors as we get closer, counting down on her fingers. As she puts down her final finger, Will steps through the doors with a grin, “Mornin' y'all.”

He comes to walk beside Nico as we duck into the halls, strolling around. “I think we have theater arts first.” I furrow my eyebrows, “Theater arts?” Will grins, “Yeah, it's like, actin' an' performance arts.” Lou groans, “It's boring.” Nico shrugs, “It's a free period.” I blink at him, “Translating to...?”

“An hour dedicated to him bein' a nuisance.” Will huffed. Nico hummed, “You're only willing to go to this class because you're father sometimes volunteers to teach.” Grumbling, Will shoves him, “Shut it, doofus.”

I chuckle at them, more so when Lou makes a _blah blah blah_ motion with her hand, “Ladies, you're both prettier than Tanaka, get over yourselves.” Nico swing his leg behind me to trip her up. She jumps over it, “Ha ha, asshole.”

“How dare you include me in a sentence with Tanaka, bitch.”

Will sighs, giving me a look that said _end me now._ I shrug, and laugh again as Nico grins at me.

* * *

So Will's dad hadn't volunteered today, which made him easier to drag into the mess. Cecil lay sprawled on the floor, Lou using a bunch of duct-tape earlier to create a rough-looking pentagram. We're about half an hour into the glass now. Will is just sitting by Cecil's feet, face in his hands as he contemplates what he did to deserve this.

I sit with him, just watching the scene play out. The teacher's missing from the room – has been since ten minutes into the class – which is never a good thing. There's havoc not only in out corner of the room, but the entire classroom. Nico's got his lighter out, smoking leisurely on the windowsill, and Lou's taking a picture on her phone of Cecil on the demon symbol.

To be honest, this is tamer than yesterday, though I think that's more due to the lack of authority around to provoke the Punk Pair. I reach over to Will, patting it's shoulder, “I'd say it's gonna get better, but...hit and miss.” He groans, “I didn't do nothin' yet, an' we're already bustin' out the pentagrams.” I snort, “You love it, really.”

He looks up, relenting; I catch him starting to smile, so I take it as a good sign, “I do. Wouldn't change it for nothin'.” He tells me. It sounds rehearsed; something he's said many times to many people. Will leans back on his hands, looking to Nico by the window, “You gonna be a loner all day, or are you gonna come down an' join in the satanic summonin'?”

Nico glances down at Lou and Cecil, before shrugging, “I'm already here, aren't I?” I snort, but Will tisks, “No – you're the devil's son, we're summonin' your dad.” The dark eyed boy grumbles to himself, rolling his eyes, “He's not the fucking devil, Jesus fucking Christ.” Lou snorts, “Contradictory.”

Nico takes a drag, catching my eyes. I shrug, coming to stand near him, “I haven't met him, but he sounds pretty cool, if not... _deadly_.” I wink. I earn a smirk for my efforts – reassuring, to me at least – before Nico leans back against the windowsill.

* * *

Lunch period rolls around pretty fast after that, and I find myself returning to the parking lot again. Reyna and Jason in the window, Cecil with the Stolls under the trees, Nico and Will hanging around as Lou circuits the lot.

I'm waved to, greeted with smiles, and it's just awesome, “Hey guys.” Nico nods at me, standing on his skateboard, “But anyway, who's bringing drinks on Friday?” I ease myself beside Nico, sipping from the cola I got from the cafeteria. Jason rose his hand, “I've got drinks covered – the usual, right?” Reyna nods this time, “Yeah; but no beer – if anybody wants that, they'll have to bring it themselves. It's not our obligation to provide _everything_ , no matter what Thalia says.”

Jason snorts, rolling his eyes, “I know, I told her that last time. She just dumped them on me to carry.” Nico scowled, “Don't let her do that.” Will opens his eyes from sun-leeching, “You comin' on Friday?” I nod, “Yeah; do I need to bring anything, or...?” Jason shook his head, “Nah; just yourself. Or anything, if you want.” Reyna shrugged, “You're not required to.” 

Nodding, I have some more of my drink. Nico flicks his lighter on and off, “Lou, you coming with me to fuck around with fireworks?” She nods, “Fuck yeah, dude. Wait – I thought we got the lighter and aerosol?” Nico shrugged, “It's whatever. Just something entertaining. Maybe we could just bring the sound system and cellphone.” I chuckle, “Wow, so this is like a beach bonfire from the movies?”

Reyna nods, “Essentially. Though not nearly as stereotypically outrageous. You're there for a relaxing night out with friends, or, if you're Nico -” She hits his shoulder, “You'll run off half way through the night to disappear into the woods and not return til morning.” The dark eyed boy shrugs, quietly smoking his cigarette. Lou snickers when Will asks, “What're y'all even gettin' up to anyways?” Nico smirks, “We'll never know.”

Lou snorts again, rolling her eyes, “Running with the wolves, as they say.” I move to lean against the wall with Nico, shaking my head at the way the green-haired wriggled her eyebrows. Our arms brush, and looks at me with a curious look. I shrug, “Sun in my eyes.” That answer is enough for him, as he turns to comment a few things about Friday upcoming. I'm fine to just listen to everything – I guess the atmosphere here just makes you sort of relaxed and care free. There's somebody knocking the wall by my head, and I open my eyes to find Nico cocking his head at me. I smile, “What's up?”

He shrugs, “Having fun here, so far?” I nod, still smiling, “Definitely. You guys have made sure of that.” I wonder if I'm just imagining the flush on his face, but the color quickly fades, “I'm glad; you're tolerable company.” I have a feeling that's a compliment, if I look back on the conversations he's had with people – he's not one for straightforward complimentary.

I grin at him, winking, “Oh, I'm sure it's more than tolerable, if you've kept me around this long.” To that, his crow eyes turn playful, “Are you sure I'm not keeping you around to throw you under the bus if necessary?” For a moment, I think he's serious, but he's still smirking, his expression open to teasing. I laugh, “Something tells me that's just you testing me.”

Eventually, he nods, shrugging, “True.” Then, as he taps his cigarette, “A weird thing I do, but yeah.” I punch his shoulder, “I get it; I'm new here, and you're cautious. It's normal.” Nico gives me a genuine smile that has my knees buckling, “I guess. Nothing normal, though. It's an abstract concept.”

I nod, sip my drink, “True.” He raises an eyebrow at me, knowing, “Stealing my lines now, Shark Bait?” Grinning, “Oh totally, y'know, because I can totally be a bad boy if I put my mind to it.” He doesn't answer, just gives me a calculating look as he quietly smokes his cigarette. Then, “We'll make a monster out of you yet.”

I'm lost for words – he's notorious for that, it seems – so I just close my eyes and drink cola.

* * *

Cecil catches me on the way out the doors, “Hey, coming to the woods with us?” I shrug, “Uh, sure. The woods?” Cecil nods, his curly hair going everywhere, “Yeah – it's like a hang out area.” God, it's like I'm being initiated into a cult; and excelling fast. It's awesome.

Again, we meet the gang outside the school, students leaving the school in flocks. Nico's absent of Hazel, or Reyna, but Jason and Will are with him. Cecil high-fives Nico as we pull up, and the taller boy looks antsy to leave. “What up with him?” I ask Jason. Jason shrugs, ruffling the boy's hair, “His dad wants him home by five, so he wants to squeeze in as much 'fun' as he can.” I nod, and we start walking down the streets.

“I though Lou was coming?” Cecil asks. Will shakes his head, “Nah; she's got band-practice all week for a gig comin' up in June.” I raise an eyebrow, “What gig? Her band's, like, serious?” Nico nods, looking a little proud, “Yup – has been since Freshman year. Get a lot of people coming to see them from all over town.”

I smile at that, “You have anything to do with it?” Jason sighed a laugh, hand down his face, “You wont believe how much those three promoted her band – Hecate Protégés. There were posters everywhere for months, all they talked about was Hecate _this_ , Protégés _that_.” Jason sighed again, “It was an intense first year.”

Nico and Will stare at him with offense, “You say that like our sweat and blood didn't go into the promotion.” I chuckle, patting Nico's shoulder, “I'm sure it did, don't worry.” He simmers down, holding his chin high, “Damn fucking straight.” Will whacks him around the head, “Shut it, profanity personified.”

We continue walking, across the streets and towards a part of town where sand is strewn in grains on the sidewalk. The road turned cobbled, before it stretched into sandy grass. I notice that the houses around here are a lot smaller, more like beach huts, and the air tastes of salt.

Then, I notice how the sand stretched for ages, until you could _just_ squint at the ocean lapping up against the shore. Along the curve of the beach, further away where the cliffs start to rise, the earth starts to pick up in clumps of grass at first, until trees start sprouting in thickets until the entire cliff back is just laden with towering trees.

I notice drift wood upturned and bowing around a mound of charred wood. “Is that the bonfire?” Will nods, “That's usually where it is – it's better when it's lit.” I nod, “Figured.” Jason tugs me along, since the three of us had stood around to stare at the scenery – Nico was half away across the beach on his long legs, striding with intent for the woods.

“Damned legs, I swear.” Jason mutters, starting to awkwardly wade/jog over the miniature sand dunes. Will huffs beside us, “di Angelo get your bony butt back here!” I watch with astonishment as Cecil breaks into a run, “How -”

Jason huffs with exasperation, “Goddammit di Angelo slow the fuck down!” I watch his quickly shrinking figure raise a middle finger, Cecil quick on his tail. Will huffs again, and I turn to find his face bright cherry, “I'm not buying McDonald's next Monday!” I find it amusing that his stepping faltered for a second, before he continued in full-stride. A laugh bubbles up from my mouth before I can stop it, and it reaches all the way across the empty beach.

Cecil and Nico stop at the first tree that separates beach from woodland. Even from here, I can see the jesting smirk on his face. I pick up my pace a little, sand getting into my shoes, but I find myself uncaring and just enjoying the sun on my back. I rained a lot more in New York, so this is a new development that I'm loving.

The closer I get, the more clearly I can see Nico's grin, and it spurs me further until I skid to to a stop in front of them. Huffing, panting, but there. Nico and Cecil punch my shoulders, “Aw, dude! You look like a land shark!” Cecil bursts out.

Nico's smirk drops for him to squint with confusion at the smaller boy, “Land sharks are lawyers, asshat.” The freckled boy scratches his cheek, glaring at the ground with befuddlement, “I though – Sharknado, and...” I snicker, “The sentiment is appreciated, dude.”

The taller (still shorter, mwahaha,) boy takes out his cigarettes and lights one up, offering one to Cecil. He takes it, produces a lighter from the inside of his pocket, “Thanks.” Nico glances at me, shaking his box a little until a cigarette rests on the edge. He's questioning, “You smoke?” I shake my head, hand up, “Uh, no.” Nico looks relieved, but that may just be the shade, as he pockets his cigarettes again.

Jason comes up with Will on his back, both of them red in the face with heaving chests, “I hate all of y'all.” The blond – Will – growls. Nico shrugs, turning on his heel, “Took you long enough.” Jason let out an indignant sound, but dumped Will on the ground in favor of walking. I jog a little, slowing to a moderate speed beside Nico, “What time you gotta go home, dude?”

“Five: dad wants me to get home to have a family dinner with some bitch he's bringing home.” Something told me this was a delicate subject. I ignored intuition, “Who's this...bitch?” My tongue felt sour after saying that. I watch him smirk at me briefly, before it crumbled into a scowl, “He's trying to _fill the gap_. With some twenty dollar whore who has deep shit against me.”

Jason's on the other side of Nico, and he keeps shaking his head whilst cutting his finger across his neck: stop it, abort, abort. I push a little further, “She can't be that bad -”

Nico's mouth twists into a murderously sanguinary grimace that twitched as if it was trying to evolve into a smirk, “Oh yeah, no totally, she's a dime.” He hikes up the wristbands on his arm, showing off an ugly bruise and red welts in the shape of nails.

“Harmless,” He spits, “A wonderful fucking _cunt_.” I hadn't noticed we were storming through the trees until I started tripping up on steep ground. The guys were trailing behind us, smart and wise enough to put distance between them and us. I'm not the smartest, it seems.

“Well, hey,” I wince at the marks, and gently reach for his shoulder, “Who says you have to be home to see her, huh?” His dark eyes tear from their heated gaze at the undergrowth, giving a look that screamed _you're fucking retarded, don't fucking touch me_. I kept my hand on his shoulder, forcing us to slow down a little, “I mean, sure, your dad said you did – but...something tells me you're not the type to listen to him, right?”

Nico works strangely, I decide. He's rebellious as any teen and lusting after danger as much as the next guy, but though he sneers at authority outside the home – inside? It's like he's terrified. And, no, I wouldn't blame him – I caught of glimpse of Nico's father this morning and nearly threw up my cereal with nerves.

But...he'll go against orders regardless of how scared he is – and no, I can't just go saying he's scared, because he looks more cornered and furious than an ounce of fearful, but it's just...I feel like I've been in this situation with him before, and that scares me,and I guess I'm just projecting. All it takes is a little push, and he's loosening under my hand.

He hums, then cranes his neck to look at the reddening skies through the canopy, “Not usually. Penalty for going against him tonight is grounding for a month, though.” I shrug, “Oh well, who cares, right?” Never have I ever thought I'd be promoting rebellion, but here I am. I don't find myself minding too much.

Humming again, Nico shuffles a little, before continuing to walk at a more friendly pace, all heat gone from his eyes. He rummages in his backpack for something, producing a pack of blueberry pop tarts. He hands them to me, “Little fishie told me you liked blue crap.”

Thanking him, I tear it open. The trio behind us start catching up with us again as we near a rundown looking structure. Nico ducks under it, me following with hesitancy. It was sort of like a tree-house, but it had fallen from a tree onto its side. Inside,there isn't much space, but there's a gaping hole in the 'roof' , where I watch him climb up and let his legs dangle.

I hope up beside him, though my legs are crossed, “Damn,” I didn't realize how far up the cliff we were, until I fall back against a bared part of the cliff face, and watch the trees stagger down the rest of the journey to the beach, and if I stand, I can see an endless North Pacific Ocean.

I grin, inhaling lung-fulls of bay breeze and sunshine dappling through the canopy. Nico smokes his cigarette quietly, glancing at me with gratitude. Will calls up from inside the tree-house, “Hey, you gonna share those 'tarts, or hog 'em?” I snort, holding them to my chest. Munching one, I glare down, “Heck no.” I feel better – saying _bitch_ earlier made me feel like I was going against my mom. Or doing her wrong.

“And here I thought I'd converted you,” Nico muttered, though I spy the curl of a characteristic smirk against his cigarette. Cecil pops his head up, cigarette butt getting squashed and marred into the rotting wood, “Sup losers. Death Prince hurdled his meltdown yet?” For that, Cecil receives a boot to the shoulder, which pulls a pained grimace from his expressions, “Shit dude! I was just fucking around.”

Will's chuckle trickled from below, “Messin' 'round ain't gonna get you on his good list anytime soon.” Jason made an agreeing sound, “Nonetheless, yo Perce!” He calls up, a hand squeezing by Cecil to be held out expectantly, “Gimme one?” I reluctantly set a pop tart into his hand, “Because you're a bro.”

Cecil groans, but huffs, glaring at his watch, “I gotta bounce. It's five. See you 'round, guys.” He slips back down into the tree house, and comes out again with Jason on his tail, “I'll see you tomorrow!” He waves. We wave back, and Will hums, “I think I'll go, too. Dad's meant to be home t'night.” Again, we wave as Will jogs to catch up with the boys a little further out of view. Nico calls, “Bring drugs, cowboy!” Will scoffs, “Ask Cecil!”

Beside me, he chuckles a little breathlessly, shaking his head. I raise an eyebrow, “You okay?” Nodding, he shrugs, “Honestly? Just a little nervous 'bout going home.” I laugh a bit, bumping shoulders with him, “Well, when are you planning on going back?”

He leans back, arms over his eyes, “Never.” I furrow my eyebrows, confused. There's a grin that pulls at his boyishly chapped lips, “Kidding, kidding,” He seems to have some pretty perceptive abilities, if he picked up on my unease about his answer. I jolt, my phone vibrating repeatedly – I still need to give it a ring tone. I answer it,

“Uh – hey...”

My father's voice came through breezily, a chuckle starting his sentence, “Though I told you to text me, kiddo?” I wince, mouthing 'my dad' to Nico, who had already guessed by the way he nodded. “Uh, sorry – I got caught up with...stuff.” He hums, before asking, “Hey, do you have Nico with you?” I put the phone on speaker, “Sure, he's here.”

Nico blinks at me, before leaning forward towards the phone, “Ciao – di Angelo.” Poseidon sighs, “Hey Lil' Death,” I raise an incredulous eyebrows, to which Nico shrugs, “Your dad's tellin' me he cant get through to you – wants you home, says you're late for something?”

Nico scowls, before shrugging, “Tell him to fuck off, will you?” I fumble with the phone for a minute – not expecting him to cuss at my dad – but all Poseidon does is snort, “Sure thing, Lil' Death. Anyways, Percy?” I hum, “How long til you plan on coming back?”

I shrug, “Uhm...” I glance at Nico, “Whenever Nico comes back.” My dad makes an agreeing sound, “Sounds good; don't stay out too late, stay safe, etcetera. Later guys.” He hands up. I let out a breath, before whacking Nico's arm, “ _Dude!_ You just cussed at my dad!” He leans back on his hands, shrugging, “So?” I work my mouth, before coming up short.

 _So what if he's an adult?_ I saw on Nico's face. Then I'm reminded that he's one of _those kids_ ; desire for ruckus, need for riot, lust for _rush_. Badmouthing an authoritative figure was nothing new to him, whether the result was positive or negative. I sigh, dropping the subject, “Never mind.”

He cocks his head, dark eyes shining with befuddlement. He looks like a big hound, the way he was hunched over to angle a look in my direction. A sad, confused dog that doesn't understand what it did wrong. I sigh, smiling, “Seriously, just...it's whatever. I forget you're not exactly...”

Nico twists a devil-may-care grin, “Sane? Understandable. C'mon,” He grabs my upper-arm, uprooting me from my perch. The fallen tree-house creaks under our movement, the wood bowing under my feet. He jumps up the rocky wall that leads to more jagged land higher. I chuckle, eagerly climbing after him.

The sun's still warm, and I chase after Nico as he recklessly vaults over fallen logs and loose gravel clusters on ledges. I follow him, calling after him sometimes when I loose sight of him. He'll be waiting, and then run off again with me hot on his trail.

There's a light in his eyes as he skids to a stop centimeters from the edge of the cliff. His chest is heaving, his mouth his parted and he's got a hand resting on the nape of his neck as he stares out to the ocean. I chuckle, panting, “Damn, got some good views up here.” Nico exhales deeply, “Yeah.”

It's quiet; ocean waves and leaves rustling in the breeze. It feel natural, just standing beside Nico as we look out into the nothing. He's a...solidity to the dreamlike scene we're in; like I said before: black and white cutout in a blurry section of a big picture. Though he's missing aspects that I would expect to see on him, he fits my idealization of him fair enough. Pale skin, black hair, crow eyes – rage wrapped in yesterday's clothing and other emotions broiling at the bottom of his lungs like acid.

I match his grin, feeling my heart race. He leans over the edge – my heart skipping beats – and says, “We should jump.” I blink, leaning to look over with him. Below is a lagoon sort of area, detached from the beach. Too shallow. Too many rocks for it to be safe – we'd either seriously injure ourselves or die. I tell him this.

Nico's smile lessens, but he shrugs, “Whatever.”

Guilt is a sharp stab to my ribs, as I watch his excitement disappear. This is what my mom meant about _playing you_ , I guess. Though, I know he's not doing it purposely. It's genuine disappointment I see for a moment as he turns to look over the cleft in the jarred land we've hiked. I breathe in summer air one more time before trailing him like a lost puppy, “Well, there's always other stuff, right?” He nods, “I guess. Uh, probably not what you'll like to do though.” Intrigued, I skip a little after him, “Like what?”

He shrugs uneasily, glancing at me with...an undetermined state of worry on his features, “Shoplifting, y'know; breaking into abandoned buildings...other inconspicuous things I wont mention because you'll probably hand me in to the cops.” I raise my eyebrow, unflinching at this information, “Oh yeah? What else – I promise I wont tell anybody.”

He sighs, hands in his pockets as we walk back down the cliff, “Smuggle drinks, sneak out, makeout with a stranger in a bar and steal their crap.” He shrugs, “Bad kid things. Bad things.” I'm quiet, then I smile, “Well, nobody's perfect.”

He nods, “Well, nobody rips chunks of a girl's hair casually, either.” I laugh, a loud, sudden noise, “That's true, but...she deserved it. I'd do the same, if I was in your position.” Nico shakes his head, but he's smirking with a death-or-glory sort of vibe, “No, you'd pull a vanilla fist-fight, probably.” His gaze turns dark as he flexes his fingers, “You'd probably vomit at the parts of her scalp that got all bloody. It was pretty funny.”

I try to hide the fact I stuttered in my footsteps, and shrug, “Spare me the details, will you?” Nico shrugs with me, playful glint in his eyes, “Don't worry, I wasn't gonna go further than how the blood got all over my fingers, and you could see how the skin sort of coagulated instantly – do you know there isn't actually blood in the top of your head? It all comes from the -” I groan, “I said spare me the details!”

He snickers, taking his cigarette box out, “Shit,” He curses, shaking the empty box. I raise an eyebrow, “You out?” He nods, irritably. “...Can you get more?” The dark haired boy nods, “But I have to go to sketchy side of town, plus – I'll have to wait 'til tomorrow, since the guy who gets them for me isn't home today.” He kicked the dirt angrily.

I notice we're closer to the beach now; the gulls are louder and the ocean is more in view through the thinning trees. I bump his shoulder, “We could just go buy some?” He shakes his head, “They'll ask for ID...” He trails off, before huffing, shaking his head.

“What? You looked like you had something there.” Nico nods, scratching his neck, “I could use my brother's ID...but I have _some_ morals.” I snort, “Your brother? I thought you only had Hazel?” Nico shrugs, “Half brother, half sister, sister in arms.” I snort, “Anybody else I should know about?”

His expression hardens, and he sets his jaw, “Nope.” Shit – I didn't mean to piss him off. I fumble, “Uh, sorry, I didn't mean to -”

Nico waves me off, “You didn't do anything, trust me.” I sigh, feeling incompleteness gape in my chest, “If you're sure.” He nodded, “Totally sure. Wanna come with me to the convenience store or nah?” I nod, skipping a step to keep up with him. Even if he's shorter than me, I think he's more legs than torso.

“What're we getting, aside from cigarettes?” Nico yawns a little, “Junk.” Good enough for me. I glance at my phone to find half an hour has past, and I'm content to wander the streets until the AM if it means I get to withhold the peculiar company of my mother's cautionary tale.

* * *

The store we walk into is dingy and the lights flicker when the door shuts behind us. The counter is hidden by the isles separating us, and I only just realize that there aren't any cameras up, and the door shut soundlessly behind us.

Nico seems to have noticed this too, with a competent, conniving grin. He glances at me, before putting a finger to his lips and motioning for me to stay put. He sneaks around, before a voice from the front, “Hey! You better not be sneaking 'round back there, I saw the door close!”

His grin jars into a silent snarl as he pulls his hands away from the shelf he was reaching for. I'm not going to question why he was reaching for the condoms. “Nah, man, just lookin' row quick!” He calls back, casual and airy despite the rigid frustration returning to his posture. He glares daggers at the ceiling, before beckoning me to follow.

The cashier makes a sound, “Well hurry up and get whatca need; it's almost seven and I wanna close up shop!” Nico tugs my wrist as we slowly walk along the isle, “Be ready to run,” He mutters into my ear. I nod, my pulse thumping loudly in my ears.

I watch as he grabs a couple cans of Red Bull from the shelf, then a magazine of some...heavily endowed (cringecringecringeeeeeew -) woman on the front, along with a box of matches up on the higher shelves. I throw him a questioning look, but he just grins at me.

We reach the cash register, Nico dumping his loot on the desk as he picks a pack of gum from the limited selection by the cash register. The guy there is short, stout, and tubby with a greasy look to him and purple bags under his eyes, accompanied by a five-o-clock shadow on his maw. “That everything?”

“Three packs of Marlboro.” Nico says. The guy looks us up and down with lazy eyes, then scoffs, “Beat it, kid; pay for your crap and scram.” I worry a little when Nico's hands clench into fists before he easily reaches for his wallet and pulls out a diver's license, holding up in front of the guy.

“Twenty-one, huh? You sure don't look it, kid.” Regardless, the short stack turns and pulls open the glass door, reaching on a stool to get the requested items. I mouth at Nico, “ _Three?_ ” Nico nods, whispering to me, “I'm not planning on coming back here.”

 _Be ready to run_ , he'd said. Shit. We're gonna run.

No wonder my hearts racing a mile a minute. Nico's foot taps quietly as the guy slowly scans the items, all of which are put into Nico's backpack without much suspicion. Then, I watch as the items shrink and shrink in number until it's only one cigarette box left. Nico zips up his bag, throws a significant look at me that says _get the fuck out._

I turn tail and casually call, “I'll see you outside, dude.” As I close the door, I hear a scuffle and a sudden yell as Nico bursts out the door, grinning at me as I'm suddenly being dragged along with him through the streets at a speed impossible for somebody like Will.

He races beside me, boots thumping loudly on the concrete as the shouts and yells dwindled behind us. There was an idle threat to call the cops, but I doubt they're gonna try and come after us with the loose description of, “Twenty-one year old and a kid.”

Nico lets out a shrill sound of jubilation, nearly throwing me around a corner until we slow to a stop at a small park. He's panting, non compos mentis, grinning like a lunatic. I find a laugh bubbling out of my mouth as we double over on our knees. “Dude – fucking...” Nico trails off, giving me this marveling look that makes my face go red. “That was some _bad_ shit.”

It's a compliment if I've ever heard one.

“Here,” He dumps his bag on the ground, producing a can of Red Bull, “You drink?” I shake my head, “Not usually. But...one time wont hurt, right?” He was feeding me damned bliss in doses, and I don't think even _he_ was aware of how he was hooking me in. Reeling me in, like a lure on a line, and I'm so close to the boat. It's amazing. Heart racing, you could say.

We sit on the ground, leaning up against the fence to the playground, and toast our drinks before sipping. Nico's insatiable, I know this: always going to feel the need for adrenaline, but...I think he's had enough for now.

He pulls out a pack of his fresh cigarettes, lighting it, and taking a long, long drag. Long enough to the point I worry he's suffocating. He breathes it out like mist, as if he turned it into something pretty instead of the cancerous substance it really was.

(He's one of _those kids_ , my mom's worst fear for me to get affiliated with. Well, she's not here, and there's nobody telling me not to.)

“You're an adrenaline junky, “I joke. He shrugs, looking like he's high on the euphoria of singing blood in his veins, “I am. There's nothing wrong with that.” I shake my head, “As long as you don't destroy yourself with that trait, there's no problem.” He laughs, a choked, barking sort of sound, “Too late for that.” He turns to me, crow eyes anachronistic – another time, another world, maybe another realm all together - “I could've used somebody like you a couple years ago. I'm glad you're here now.” There's sincerity dripping from his words like black ichor from deities, and it's addicting, so addicting – I just want to hear more, and more, and more; until I drown in it, maybe. He doesn't even realize he's stringing me along.

(He's oddly innocent when he gives me that smile, the raw honesty in his eyes like a drug.)

“I'm glad, too.” I tell him. The sun's starting to go down, now – it's fiery against the cityscape, the sky merging violet and lilac in it's wake. I hum, watching flick ash from his cigarette. With a foreign urge in my stomach, I ask, “Hey, mind me trying one of them?” My mother's going to kill me if she finds out, but c'est la vie, I guess. I don't care what my dad thinks.

Nico blinks, a little bewildered, “But – I thought you're...against smoking.” I shrug, “Firsts for everything, right?” He gives me a blank stare, looking into me and finding something that lets him hand over the box, and the lighter, “Knock yourself out.”

I take one, with false confidence whilst my heart screams at me to stop being an idiot and stop trying to impress him, and I light it. Then, I put it to my lips and breathe in a little to strongly. I choke, the smoke billowing out of my mouth in wheezes.

Nico pats my back, snorting, “Easy there. Here, it was a nice try, just let me -” I shake my head, “It's my first try, c'mon, give me a little more leeway than that.” He relents, and lets me take another hit. This time, it's a little easier, but it's no less acidic on my tongue and burning at the back of my throat – itching and irritable.

He settles back against the fence, humming. He snuffs out his own cigarette, looking conflicted for the first time I've seen him. But his features settle, so I guess he can't be too concerned about it, “How're you liking it?”

I croak a little, but manage a smile, “It's itchy in my throat.” Eloquent. He smirks at me, “Have a drink, dumbass.” I do so, ash and chemicals on my teeth. I yawn a little, and he raises an eyebrow, “You okay? Don't tell me I've poisoned you with nicotine.” I snort at him, “Sorta already done that.” He nods, “True.”

“But anyways, it's just been...a long day, I guess.” He nods, “Understandable.” He stretches, then slumps into my lap like a lounging mutt, looking up at me with nonchalant eyes. I smile down at him, then turn to look at the sky; in the span of a few minutes, the sun's barely a scarlet line on the skyline, stars spread out faintly over the layer of blue and purple.

“Long days are the best; they lead to long nights,” I hear him mutter. I nod, “Yeah. I guess that's the best part.” With his infamous one-liners, he replies,

“Definitely.”

* * *

I return home around ten, the sky truly dark by now and the streetlights guiding us home.

We part at the center of the road, from where we'd been walking for a while. He grins at me, smirking, “Remember to lock your window tonight, Shark Bait.” I nod, waving to him, “Good luck with your dad, dude.” He rolls his eyes, “Gotta brace myself for a _'grounding'_.” With that, he climbs up the tree to his bedroom; a better tactic at avoiding his dad, I guess.

I turn to my home, jiggling my spare keys in the door to step through. My dad's in the living room, and he looks at me over the couch, “Have fun tonight?” I nod, offering him a faint smile. I still don't think I'll be able to fully smile at him – not after he took me from my mother. Nonetheless, he's a nice guy, so I can't keep him in frozen hell forever.

“Kinda beat, though, so...I'm gonna hit the hay.” Poseidon nods at me, smiling, “Okay. I'll see you in the morning.”

I step into my room, and sure, my stomach's empty and grumbling, my throat still burning and the taste of addiction on my teeth. I don't care: I've had the first best day I've had in a while, legal issues and morality issues be damned.

Leaning on my desk, I stare out the window for a moment. I look across the street, and see two figures in Nico's bedroom: presumably himself and his father. I sigh, feeling guilty. The boy and the man are both screaming, the man's fist caught in the air like he wants to hit Nico.

And apparently, that quick mouth of his, Nico must've said something that stung, considering how his father faltered. The man slumps a little, and he shouts so loud I can hear him through my window - “Get the fuck out of my house, you goddamn disappointment!”

I feel my stomach turn cold.

Nico flips the man off before hopping out of the window. He crouches low by the tree until both of us watch the man's retreating figure from his room. I open my window, “Nico! C'mere!” The boy jogs over, easily climbing up to my windowsill, “What's up, Shark Bait? You look like you've seen hell.”

I sigh, catch him by his jacket, and drag him into my room. He stumbles, backpack still on his bag as the cans and other items clank a little loudly. “Shit, what the fuck are you -”

I tug him to my bed, taking his backpack and jacket off as I went, “Get in; no way you're sleeping on the floor.” He stares at me, uncomprehending for a moment, before he robotically crawls into my bed. I sigh, rubbing my eyes. I place my shoes near his, slipping in with him, “Don't worry, I'm not gonna pull a move on you or anything. Get comfy.” He sidles up to me a little, hesitantly laying his head on the pillow.

I look down at him and smile, “G'night, dude.” He nods, “Buona notte, big guy.”

* * *

It's some time past midnight, and I know he's wide awake beside me, restless.

He ended up curled into my side like something fragile and scared, my arm around him like a protective layer. I don't say anything, neither does he, and I start to wonder if I kissed him, it would taste the same as the cigarettes he smoked. (I don't realize that later, I'll start smoking them just to feed myself the fantasy of just that.)

Right now, it's scary – he's not let his guard down, but it's turned invisible so I can watch his very much alive, very much beating heart pulsate in his skeleton. It's a strange sight, but it's pretty all the same on his black and white picturesque form.

I stare up at the ceiling, and come to terms with the fact that I've been lured into the trap. Sorry mom; I'm becoming something you hate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, so I know the geography is nowhere near correct - there isn't a beach in Riverside (I live there, goddammit, I'd know,) but it is a very sleepy, quiet city/town/whatever the fuck and I wanted that combined with calm, breezy beaches that teens can just go to at night because nobody's there to give a damn and tell them off - plus, sleepy towns are like the best thing to write about, because you can alter everything to a different perspective (like the cop part in the previous chapter.) Hope this lack of geographical correctness doesn't put any of you off!
> 
> And yes; Percy is, little by little, being initiated into the Bad Boys Brotherhood.


	3. Hitherto

_"The adrenaline and stress of an adventure_  
_is better than_  
_a thousand peaceful days."_

- Paulo Coelho

*

**CHAPTER THREE**

She turns on the lamp, huffing. Her face is the epitome of frustration, “Percy, I warned you about this. Just look at you, what they've done to you.” I look down at my knees; a little bruised, a little scraped. Nothing bad, nothing mortally impairing. I don't understand her deal. 

I huff back at her, scowling. My mother reaches for my cheek, brushing her thumb over a sore scab on my jaw. I pull away, much to her chagrin, “I told you to stay away from them.” I frown, “But they're my friends -”

Shaking her head sternly, her voice lowers, “No, no, no. Don't _ever_ believe that. They're luring you into something _big_ , guppy. Something bigger than you, or them.” Her tone of voice is dark; a warning, but I've never listened to them before.

I jerk away from her hand again, “That's not true! How do you know that? You've never met them!” At this moment in time, I see the sadness in her eyes drain, filling with anger. It's like looking into a younger version of her; more fire, more gasoline. It's terrifying.

She's not so different from them, really.

* * *

Friday rolls around faster than I anticipate. I sluggishly pull on clothing I barely recognize as yesterday's, toeing on a pair of shoes before shouldering my backpack and heading towards the window. I climb up on my desk, pushing the frame up before pausing:

What am I doing?

 _Climbing out the window, duh_. Something mutters at me, in a voice that sounded like a combination of Nico and Lou. Shaking my head, I climb back down and head for the bedroom door. That was weird. I scratch my cheek as I jog down the stairs, my hand brushing my jaw briefly: no scab. My knees aren't sore, either.

Poseidon's in the kitchen when I get downstairs, filling a bowl of cereal for Tyson, “Hey champ!” Hurling, internally, “I'll be ready in a minute, just get in the car.” I shrug, “Uh, actually, I was thinking about walking with Nico.” He seems a little surprised, but overall like he expected it at some point, “Sure, go ahead. Have fun!” Tyson waves to me from the table, his little toddler hand flailing. I grin at him, waving, before I step out the door.

Nico's just setting his skateboard on the sidewalk as I jog over, “Yo Ghost King!” He blinks up at me, cigarette hanging from his mouth and twenty dollars getting shoved into his pocket, “Sup, Shark Bait.” I shrug, tiredness leaving me almost immediately, “Nothing, just thought I'd join you today.”

He nods, hand on his nape, “Sure. You ready?” I nod, and he kicks off. Nico's not going too fast, almost at walking speed if only a few steps quicker, which I'm grateful for. I don't think I'd be willing to run to school. “So, Friday,” He yawns, raising an eyebrow at me. I nod, grinning, “TGI Friday, right?” The crow eyed boy scrunches his nose distastefully, “And people tell me I'm in the wrong time.” Snorting, I shove him playfully, “Yeah, but I say it ironically; there's a difference, dork.”

Running a hand through his hair, he rolls his eyes, “Whatever helps you sleep at night.” As we walked, I the sentence threw me back to Tuesday night. Wednesday morning, I'd woken to an empty bed with no trace Nico had been there, aside from a few cigarettes left on my nightstand with a lighter. I hum quietly, “Where did you go, by the way? Wednesday morning.”

Nico glances at me, then shrugs, “Out.” I guess that's all I need to know. We walk a little more, the sound of his wheels squeaking a little. “Well, uh, thanks for the cigarettes, anyways.” I mutter. They're burning a hole in my pocket, along with the lighter. I'm glad I found them before my dad, or Tyson. Or Triton, if he's weird and sneaks into my room when I'm gone.

The skateboarder shrugs, “It's whatever. If you don't want them or anything, just give them back,” He tells me. I'm appreciative that he's so easy about this; isn't teasing me about choking, isn't pressuring me to have more. It's...nice, I guess. Friendly.

I shake my head, “Nah, I think I'll hold onto them. Y'know; if things get a little stressful.” He gives me a curiously cognizant look, before he hops off his board and shoves one of the wheels into his belt-loop, “Try not to rely too much on them. Too much of something becomes an addiction,” He mutters the last part to himself, “I'd know.”

We're quiet, the morning sun still sort of cool, and there's an acrid scent of something alcoholic spilled on the sidewalk. I hop over it, glancing to Nico, who shrugs, “Vomit. Somebody had a little too much fun last night.” I wrinkle my nose.

He just smirks at me, “Get used to it. It's Fall soon; LA tourists are gonna start coming home for the winter.” I raise an eyebrow, “What do you mean?” Nico actually lights the cigarette in his mouth, “Sure, this place is quiet, but there's more people than the few at school and the one – unfortunate – shopkeeper, y'know.” I make a quiet _oh_ sound.

Nodding, he chuckles, “Summer and spring are quiet down here, because everybody's abroad; it's sort of why the local 'authorities',” Nico crooks his fingers, scoffing, “Are gung ho for pretty much anything.” Another _oh_ sound is made.

He bumps shoulders with me, exhaling smoke, “Whatever; you're new. Can't expect you to know everything.” I can't help but notice that all the pent-up frustration of Tuesday has dwindled erratically, to the point that he's grinning at just about anything. Maybe it's because it's Friday. It made sense in my head.

“One more day,” I mutter to him. Nico nods, “Until I can fuck this shitty town and hit up Las Vegas.” I laugh at him, ruffling his hair, “You wish.”

He nods, groaning heavily, “I really do.”

* * *

Lou snickers, kicking Will's chair. Nico isn't present, but neither is Cecil, so I don't have particularly high hopes that they're avoiding trouble. It's third period Study Hall, and Mr D is sipping leisurely from his water (vodka.)

I have a few papers in front of me, all of which held only a scarce amount of notes – I doodled over everything else. I'll copy up Will's notes or something later. The blond groans, “Lou I swear to holy heck -” She guffawed, “Aww, c'mon cowboy! I'm not even doing anything!” She's barely prodding his chair anymore, and she didn't sound as enthusiastic as normal. She keeps glancing at the empty seats flanking her.

“Look, it ain't my fault the boys ain't here to keep y'all entertained, okay?” Will sighed. She huffed, and relented, pulling out a pair of scissors and cutting the edges of her textbook with deep boredom. I hum, “Where are they, anyways?” The blond shrugs, “Best bets is the bathroom – probably lightin' up or somethin'.”

I get up, “I'll go get them.” He sends me an appreciative smile, “Relatively soon would be nice; I think I'm gonna suffer a displaced disc.” I snort, jogging over to the classroom door. Mr D should be too busy with a little scuffle at the front to notice,

“Peter Johnson! Where'd you think you're going?” The man booms. Dammit. I sigh, turning to face the bearded man, “It's Percy Jackson, sir. Bathroom.” Mr D rolls his eyes, rummaging in his desk drawer before chucking a pass at me, “Do I care what your name is? Bring Angel and Markoski back with you, while you're at it.” I take the bass, nodding. I have no idea who Angel and Markoski are.

The hall's quiet, and I scamper along quickly to the little boy's room. There's lazy chuckles as I step in, and I find Nico sitting on the sink unit, Cecil balancing on a divider to reach the window. The air was heavy with weed, but the curly-haired boy is the only one looking red-eyed. “O-ho...ho, aww, Percy, dude! Sup, man?” He babbles.

I raise my hand, leaning against the door, “Are you guys seriously getting high in the bathroom?” Nico shrugs, “ _I'm_ not getting high.” I watch him puff rings into the air. It reeks of foul odor, “Okay, I get why you'd choose the bathroom, but why the bathroom?” I sigh.

Cecil snorts, almost drunkenly, “Nobody's gon'...gonna find us.” He drops to a whisper, wriggling his fingers, “We're – fuck, man, we're like...ninjas. Ninjas!” He giggles. I roll my eyes, fixing Nico with a _why are you so irresponsible look_. He puts a hand to his chest, clearly offended, “Why are you looking at me like that? I'm not his dad.”

Cecil snickers, “Nah, my dad's the Postal King!” I roll my eyes again, walking further into the bathroom. I reach up, taking the joint from Cecil and flushing it, “Dude, no. Not during school; not cool.” He blows a raspberry at me, “Who says I'm...I'm tryna be cool, fish breath?” Nico quietly continues to smoke his cigarette, doodling on the mirror in sharpie. “For god sake, guys. Nico, stop it.” He clicks the lid back onto his pen, sliding from the sink unit, “Fine, fine.”

I see he's drawn a bunch of dancing skeletons on the mirror. Okay, so maybe I laugh a little, but...shut up. I hook Cecil by his collar, nudging Nico with my hand, “C'mon, wash yourself off and let's head back to class.”

Nico turns on the faucet, gathers a handful of water, and empties his palms over Cecil's head. I run a hand down my face – Will, I feel you buddy, I really do - “Not what I meant, Ghost King.” He smirks, “I'm sorry, Shark Bait. How did you mean? Like this?” He flicks his wet hands at me, droplets splattering all over my face. “Oh wow, it's on,” I grin, slamming another faucet on and cupping my hands.

All the while, Cecil was just chuckling, watching water drip from his hair into the sink. Okay, I might need to sober him up a little. Nico throws another handful of water at me, soaking the front of my shirt. I laugh, dumping water at his face. The curls mat against his forehead a little, but mainly just continue to spring up wildly. His eyelashes clump together, and water runs down his cheeks. Oddly, it looks like he's been crying, and it makes him look really pretty.

I'm distracted by his ~~sexiness~~ appearance, meaning that Nico has a chance to dump more water on me. His cigarette's gone out, but he's grinning around it as the water gets the side of my head and shoulder. We're causing so much noise, just laughing and squawking – we don't hear a teacher open the door. “Oh, hey teach,” Cecil blurts out.

I freeze up, looking from where I was backed against the sink. She's one of the younger teachers; big glasses and a too-tight bun on her head. She stood with her arms folded, unimpressed. Nico lets the hands above my head release the water all over my face.

“What on _earth_ do you three think you're doing?!” She shrills, and I can't help but smile a little – she's very young, maybe only twenty, so her authoritative stance is far from perfected. She's not even all that intimidating, looking more so like a student than a member of faculty.

Nico casually steps back from me, lighter out to relight his cigarette. She glares at him with bright gray eyes, incredulous, “ _Give_ me _that_ ,” She makes a swipe for it, only for him to hold it above her head, “Not a chance in hell, short stack.” The teacher huffs, whirling to look at Cecil. She sniffs the air, then gags, “Is that – weed? Oh my god, you three are coming with me.” She hisses, grabbing semi-conscious Cecil by his collar and trying to make her stance bigger.

I watch, as Nico outright cackles, “Au contraire, Ms...” He glanced at her tag, “Chienne.” He smirked, “Fitting: that's _bitch_ in French.” Her face bloomed red, and Nico snickered as he took a hit from his cigarette. I can't help but chuckle, too, coming to stand beside him. I nudge him, whispering, “What's the plan?” Whilst Ms Bitch discombobulates momentarily.

Nico shrugs, flicking ash onto the floor, “Grab Cecil and run.”

“Brunner's office, _now_.” She demands. Nico shares a look with me, before dashing for Cecil and dragging the boy through the halls by his forearm. I feel an ounce of sympathy for her, shrugging a little, “What can you do?” And then I'm racing after the pair, Nico looking over his shoulder at me with a grin.

The Study Hall door slams open; Lou's face split by her excitement and Will giving me a _how could you?_ Expression. I just beckon them to follow. Cecil's tripping on his laces as I run beside Nico, but he's half-lidded eyes and dazed grin, so I suppose he doesn't care too much. Lou sprints up beside me, “Hey, you forgot this!” I grab my backpack from her, “Thanks!”

Ms ~~Bitch~~ Chienne is screeching after us, and Will – for once, no offense dude – is keeping up with us relatively easy. “Where're we going?” I ask. Nico's just running aimlessly at this point, cigarette dropped somewhere behing us.

“Neverland.” He tells me. It's odd that I believe him, that I believe that, perhaps, there is a Neverland he wishes to go, and that I'd follow him wholeheartedly. I know that the people with me now would. They'd never think twice. Nico's got them under a spell, and it isn't letting off anytime soon. And yeah, I'm trapped, too, but it's all good. It'd Friday, after all – _Fridays will always be better than Sundays, 'cus Sundays are my suicide days_...sorry, just had to.

We skid around a corner, and suddenly we're out of the school, running to god knows where – thieves in daylight, stealing the rush that is rightfully ~~ours~~ theirs.

Cecil sobers up a little, it seems, blinking widely as he stars to run a little more independantly. Lou soars ahead on her skateboard, rock star hands in the air as she pulls a kick-flip. Will, beside me, wheezes a little, but he's grinning sunshine and showing the sky in his eyes, and it's just amazing to see them all so _alive_ and _evocative._ I find myself loving it a little more than I think I should, considering how my mother raised me.

We dash past the school grounds, along the sidewalks as we recklessly weave through the few civilians not at work or school. I think Ms Chienne may have stopped chasing us, I don't know. She may have called the cops, she may have rallied a team of teachers to chase us.

All I do know, is that I _don't care,_ and I'm _loving it_.

I'm unsure for how long we run, but Nico's still grinning as we slow to a walk. Will seems thankful for this fact, as his face, though fiery, is fatigued from exertion. Cecil chuckles breathlessly, “McDonald's, anybody?” Nico nods almost instantaneously, “Fuck yeah.” I bump his shoulder, “We could've just gone with her.”

He runs a hand through his hair, “What's the fun in that?” Lou backs up his point, “Nothing for nobody.” She rides her board backwards before us, Cecil pulling Nico's skateboard from his backpack and joining the green-haired girl. Will rummages in Nico's backpack, too, pulling up an empty can of Red Bull, “Seriously? No water in here? At all?” Nico shrugs, “I have no need for such things.”

I snort, “Sure you do; you just don't wanna look normal in front of all the weirdos.” He winks at me, and I feel my face heat a little. I'll blame it on the impromptu sprint. Will zips up Nico's bag, huffing, “I'm in for McDonald's; their drinks are iced.” I nod, “I'm in.”

We change our route to head towards the retail park again, a little further into the town. During that time, Will trailed behind us a little to answer a phone call from his sibling. So, Cecil and Lou racing all over the vacant streets and grinding along the curb, it's just me and Nico. I smile up at him, my heart still having yet to settle to the steady tempo of comfort zone.

“Made a monster out of me yet?” I inquire, remembering back to Tuesday lunch period. It's a line of his that keeps coming back, after I pull stunts like this with these adrenaline junkies. His crow eyes flicker to me, a knife's edge laced into his smirk, “I don't know. Come back to me when you find out.”

I blink at him, furrowing my eyebrows, “But you said -”

He cackles a little, ran running down his face. I notice he has scabs on his knuckles, dark circles under his eyes that had been faint on Monday, “What I said shouldn't matter to you.”

And, okay; I get what he's saying. _What I say shouldn't shape you_. I bump his shoulder, then ruffle his damp hair, “Okay, smartass. I hear you.” He winks at me, “Maybe I've been a bad influence on you,” He commented. I felt myself blush again, “It's...weird, but, like...second nature, too?” He nods, “Sweet, precious little baby with an overprotective mother who coddled you from the morally destitute?” I shrug, rubbing my neck, “Pretty much.” Overprotective is an understatement, but it's not like I'm telling him that.

He thumps my arm, smirk to genuine smile, “Be happy you had that.” Something clicks and my eyes blow wide, “Holy shit your mom's dead isn't she?!”

Everybody freezes.

Lou and Cecil jam to a stop further up the sidewalk, and Will stops talking on the phone. Nico rolls his eyes, though his posture is stiff; at least he's _trying_ not to hit me over the head with his skateboard, “Yup.” He pops the 'p' and continues strolling along. I jog along, throat tight, “Dude, I didn't mean to say it like that – it just...it was a sudden realization.” Nico shrugs, “It's whatever.”

Will hesitantly continues his conversation, “No, no, just...a squirrel – made me jump.” Lou and Cecil continued to skate ahead, bickering between them. He bumps my shoulder again, “Seriously, you look like you're gonna pop a vessel: it's chill.” I sigh, nodding, “But – yeah, um.” I can't tell if he's genuinely okay with it or if he's covering up anger.

But he cracks another sweet smile at me, and all my problems fade.

* * *

We're in the booth, discussing what tonight's going to be like.

Lou and Cecil sit across from me, Will to my right; Nico's slid himself onto the low sill of the wide windows, in between the end of the table and said window. He's slender enough to do that, though I worry about how his ribs press unforgivably against the table.

He's got salt and grease all over his fingers – can't be good for those cuts – his tongue continuously swiping to lick up whatever he misses. I cant help but decide it's fitting that he ordered a Happy Meal whilst the lyrics _put your hands in the air, scream fuck the world_ screeched from his phone's speaker. It's just something that Nico would do, I guess. Quirky, but in a more dangerous way than what my mother would've appreciated.

I myself settled for a box of chicken nuggets; like a real adult. I've accidentally drowned half of them in ketchup (gross,) so I let Lou continue to steal the ketchuppy ones whilst I sneak fries from Nico's wrapper.

“No dude – it's gonna be awesome, Stolls are gonna be all over the fireworks.” Will hummed, “But the cops'll wanna see permits an' age regulation BS if they catch air of 'em.” Lou hums, picking a few more nuggets from my box, “True, but...hm,” She cocked her head, examining the morsel in her hand before swallowing in one go, “Damn, you got us there, sunshine.” The blond beside me nods, tapping his fingers, “Maybe we can just have a vanilla hang out tonight?”

Cecil groans, “But that's _boring_ , sunshine! If it's vanilla, then the older kids are gonna turn shit upside down! You know what they're like.” Nico sighs, drumming his fingers on the table, “Drinks, drugs, dancers -” I put a hand firmly over his mouth, “How about no.” Nico shrugs, “Just some ideas.” His answer is muffled around my hand. I reluctantly let it go.

“Well...what do the older kids do?” Lou stole another nugget, huffing, “Trash the place. Usually they bring their drinks, their whatever and kinda just separate from us and do their thing. As long as there's some sorta music in the background and something to entertain them, they're good. If there's nothing there...” She shrugs, dropping my chicken nugget in the little container of ketchup. _Splat_.

“We could bring a beach ball and net. Just shove them all in the ocean and leave them to drown in the dark,” Nico muttered. I blink at him again, “Nico just shut up for me.” He gives me innocent eyes, a pout starting to form, “Was it something I said?”

I hear Will whisper, “The _eyes..._ uggggh, Shark Bait, don't fall...for...it...” I watch Will reach for a part of his muffin, shoving it at Nico's face, “Take my offerin', dear cutie.” I gotta say, my resolve is crumbling.

Breathing in deeply, I close my eyes. When I open them, I put on my best baby-seal face, batting my eyelashes, “What you're saying isn't relevant, right now.” I whine at him. His own pout doesn't falter – and I guess it's because he's smaller than me that it's more effective – even going further to lick his lips whilst he batted his eyelashes. I'm being rivaled. Holy shit.

 _THIS CANNOT STAND_.

But the more I try to emphasize my face, the more I want to break down and bury him in cupcakes. Dark cupcakes that have little bats on them with black sprinkles and icing. Gothcakes. I'm baking some when I get home. Then I'll fulfill my wish and make him choke on them. The penalty for being cuter than me.

I give in, falling into a fit of giggling, “Dude – you're...” I try to look at him, to find he's looking at me eerily silent, stoically stone-faced. “ _Holy_ _shit_ ,” I laugh, falling back against Will, “That is just – ha...” I shake my head. Lou and Cecil are laughing with me, whilst I use Will as a backrest. Nico finally drops his act, smirking triumphantly, “Serves you right; this is my turf, bitch. _Nobody_ is cuter than me.”

Will sighs, head bonking against mine, “Can y'all get off now?” I grin at him, “I dunno, _caaaaaaaan_ I?” I can hear the resignment in Will's voice, “Are you serious?” I nod, “ _Can_ I or not?” He sighs, hand down his face, “May y'all get off now?” I get up, patting his shoulder, “You should get a star.

“I should get more than a gold star for dealin' with you idiots.”

Lou's squinting at me, her mouth between a curled lip and a grin, “Did you just swear?” Nico awkwardly weaves himself around the corner of the table, half-clinging to me so much as an arm around my shoulder. He nods proudly, like an older brother teaching a younger sibling the sailor's vocabulary, “Fuck yeah he did.”

I watch Nico's legs flail next to Lou, his awkward position no longer on the windowsill, but his body bowing under the table to keep himself from the floor. The three laugh again, and it's just awesome. Will's slung his other arm around me, so I'm stuck between the pair of them, and I don't find myself minding.

“C'mere,” I mutter, tugging Nico up to sit at the end of my booth, long legs sprawled across me and Will's laps. He looks relieved, stretching against the arm. “Thanks.” I nod.

Cecil hums, agittated, “Now, the only question left is: Friday entertainment?”

Lou slurps her smoothie, “We could bring karaoke.” Nico scrunches his nose, “Nobody's gonna do that, you fucking retard.” She flips him off, “Better than any of your lame-ass ideas, you goddamn dumpster fire.” Nico blows raspberries, “Go fuck yourself, prom princess.” She gasps, exaggeratedly, “ _Prom princess?_ I think you mean Punk President.”

Will grumbled, “Either way it's pee pee.” I guffaw, then snort, “Dude, I didn't even realize that.” Lou turns red, “Whatever. _I_ think it's pretty cool.” Nico reached over and pat her head, smiling soothingly. I have to restrain myself from laughing when he says in the most serious, earnest tone, “Nobody cares what you think, pee pee.”

This is the crowd I've let myself get caught in the grasps of.

I don't find myself caring too much. That's becoming a pattern.

* * *

I shuffle around my room, deciding I need to change. Yesterday's clothing didn't seem adequate for the upcoming night out.

So far, I had a pair of shorts and an orange shirt, and an indigo tank-top with navy jeans. Huffing, I roll my eyes – neither of these are good options. I have no idea what I'm meant to be expecting – how am I supposed to choose based on very few words spoken of the actual event? Am I supposed to try and impress the older kids? Am I just supposed to wear whatever?

Within my turmoil, I didn't notice Nico slipping through my window until he rested an arm on my shoulder and crossed his ankles, “Huh – both of these outfits look stupid.” I groan, hands over my face, “ _I know_.” He chuckles cigarette bitterness and Red Bull sweetness against my ear, “You got anything black?” I nod, “I think. Go ham, dude. My closet's over there.”

His warmth leaves me, the sound of my closet opening. There's a sharp whistle; I turn just in time to catch a pair of black jeans being thrown at me. Of course. I sigh, looking at them – they're not skinny, which I should've known, because I don't own skinny jeans. To my surprise, they're not even the semi-skinny ones that Nico wears (and absolutely trashes.)

I set them on my bed, and run a hand through my hair, “Don't worry, we'll sort that out,” Nico assures me. I chuckle, “Okay, Gok. Whatcha got?” He glances at me for a moment, “Who the hell is Gok?” I sigh, shaking my head, “Some fashion dude my old girl – uh, my old friend talked about sometimes.”

Nico shrugs, and chucks a gray shirt at me – a tank-top, and I quickly recognize the blue waves on the front with the big lettering **NEW YORK CITY** on the front. I sigh, “You're seriously making me wear this?” I hold up the front for him. Nodding, Nico flaps his hands at me, “Get changed, I'm snooping through your accessories.” I chuckle at him, waiting until he turned his back.

As I shimmy out of my shorts, I ask, “Why do I have to get fancied up whilst you wear the same clothes you've been wearing since Monday?” Nico hums distractedly, “Einstein wore the same suit, tie, shoes, socks for a week.” I furrow my eyebrows, “I thought that was only a story.” He made another sound, “An inaccurate, exaggerated representation of said story, but a half-truth no less and a story I go by.”

I squint at him, “You're just one of those people that loose their clothing all the time, huh?” I smirk when I see him scowl over my shoulder, “Shut up, asshat, nobody asked you.” I laugh, pulling the tank-top over my head. I turn to him, sitting by his feet whilst he sorts through the various accessories I've accumulated over the years. A few seashell bracelets, some coral-rings, a few items of band merchandise, but not many.

Nico selects one of the seashell bracelets – blue and white shells on string – and one of my old My Chemical Romance ones that I got back when I thought they were cool. I scrunch my nose at him when he says, “If anybody asks, it's for ironic purposes."

He glares at me when it looks like I'll question him, so I shut my mouth. He stands, “Stay there, I'm looking for more stuff.” Then I hear him leave through the window, the soft padding of his boots on the sidewalk.

It's a few minutes before he's back, and when I turn to look at him, he's changed his outfit, “Aww, did I hit a sensitive subject?” He scoffed at me, “I spilled drink all over myself because Hazel ran into me.” I nod, “Sure, whatever helps you sleep at night,” I crow.

He bats my head, not giving me time to admire his change in clothing, and pops the cap off a sharpie, “What's that for?” He puts it to my skin and starts doodling, “It shows you're with me; nobody's gonna _touch_ you with this.” I furrow my eyebrows, “I feel like that's bad.”

Nico nods, “The older kids or kids who haven't met you will try to push you around because you're new: trust me, I'm doing you a favor. Half of them are scared of me.” I sigh, and nod, squirming a little when he presses too hard. “Sorry. It's done.” He pulls back, and I turn in the small mirror to find a _very fucking accurate and detailed_ skull on my arm with a crown. “Dude, this is so fucking good – wowzers.” He snorts at me, “Careful with the potty mouth, guppy,” I flush, as he ruffles my hair, “Your dad's only downstairs.”

He pulls me up by my collar, “Got any jackets?” I sigh, “Just my swim team jacket and winter coat.” He scrunches his nose at me, “What the hell?” I blink, “What?” His (still cut-up mysteriously) nimble fingers come to my nose and wipe away dirt, “Oh, never mind. I thought it was something else.”

Nico scratches his cheek, “Well, we're still a little early, and I need to go see my guy...you're welcome to come along for the ride.” I nod, “Uh, sure – shit, I need my shoes.” Nico walks over to the windowsill, grabbing a pair of boots from it – he must've brought them with him.

He sets them by my feet, “They're a size too big, I actually need to take them back and get them replaced, but you try them.” I sit on my bed, pulling them on and lacing them up. “Thanks – these fit.” He nods, then stretches. I take this minute to give him a brief glance-over.

He's wearing a very Lou-esque outfit. He's still got his not-too-tight jeans on, threadbare knees and duct-tape around one of his calves, so not much difference there. The holes in his knees are gaping, though, showing off the bruises and scabs that I find oddly charming. He's got a worn Nirvana shirt on; holes all around the hem and a low-hanging collar. Nico's leather jacket was gone in favor of a grungy, denim jacket rolled up at the elbows.

I snap my eyes to his fingers again. They're confusing me, now. “What happened to your hands?” Nico pulls his cigarettes from his pocket, shrugging, “I suck at origami.” I squint, “Okay, why were you doing origami?” Nico shuffles his boots, “Hazel likes paper animals.” I nod, reasonable. “What about your knuckle? It looks busted.”

Nico peers down at his flexed hand, the redness of the first and second knuckle bringing mild surprise to his face, “I got into a fight the other day. Some asshole on my turf.” I snort, “What are you, a gangster?” He shakes his head, grinning at me jovially, “I'm a sucker looking for adrenaline wherever he can get it.”

I roll my eyes, standing, “Go fish.” If he was confused by my terminology, he didn't show it. Heading for the window, he perched there as I headed for the door. “Where are you going?” We asked simultaneously. I chuckled at him, crouched like a cat. “ _I'm_ going downstairs, dunno about you.”

He scratches his nose, “But this way's quicker.” I can't fight with that, “Alright,” I relent, “Let's go.” I climb up with him, legs dangling out the window.

He hops down easily enough, falling into a roll that stops him from landing on his feet painfully. I swallow thickly, “I – uh...” Nico blinks up at me. Then holds out his arms, “I got you.”

Leap of faith, it seems.

I squeal a little, and my heart lodges into my throat when I feel him stagger a little. But he got me, so I guess I'm safe, “Never again.” I mutter. Nico chuckled, dropping me onto the lawn, “I don't see the big issue, but okay.” Five-o-clock sun bares down behind him, forcing him into this dark figure holding his hand out to me. His hair curls in a certain way, that from this angle, the wild springs of hair looked like horns.

I took his hand.

* * *

I bask in the evening sun as we walk beyond the parts of Riverside I've become acquainted with, to areas where alleys were wider and darker, sheltered more from the sun and the buildings were skyscrapers instead of two-story homes.

I notice, in the brief flashes of sun, that Nico is wearing vector bullets attached to string around his neck, “Where'd you get them?” I ask, nudging them with my finger. He doesn't look down, “From my sister's rifle.” I blink, “Hazel has a rifle?” He shakes his head. I don't press any more.

He picks up a little more pace, and I half-jog to keep up with him, “Damn, what's this dude got that you want so badly?” Nico shrugged, sighing, “...Y'know. Stuff. Not entirely illegal stuff.” I furrow my eyebrows, “Drugs?” Nico shrugged, “Just marijuana. And it's not for me, not really. More so for Cecil and the Stolls.” I hum, jaw tight, “...Okay. He's not, like...uh...” I loop my finger by my head.

Nico shakes his head, then pauses, “He...hmm. He's got quirk. And his roommate. S'all good, though. He'll give me the weed, I'll pay him later with whatever he charges, and we're all good.” I grab his forearm as he starts to make towards an apartment complex across the street, “Nico...”

He sighs, “Look, hang in the lobby if you want, okay? I'm not forcing you into nothing.” I swallow, heart heavy in my throat, “I – no, no, it's fine. I'll come with.” As we start walking again, I whisper, “He doesn't, like, ask for sex or anything right?” Nico snorts at me, “No. Just weird stuff – stuffed bears, art stuff, money, tarot cards – random shit. Most of it's usually pretty cheap. Sometimes, he'll just ask for whatever I have in my bag.”

Something bad stirs in my stomach, nerves pulsating with a staccato beat.

Nico reaches through a hole in the glass door, opening it from the inside as we head through. I stick close to him, and I can tell he's sort of unsettled by the proximity due to the little jolt he gives when I press our arms together. Then he's casually throwing an arm around my shoulders, “Relax, okay?”

We start for the stairs, and take a left on the second floor. I don't like the stains on the carpet, or how the light continued to flicker as we stepped through the stale-smelling hall. The only reassuring thing is that Nico's pulse in his wrist is beating steadily.

Nico raises a fist and knocks on the door, and it swings open. In the doorway is a red headed girl with green eyes and immense freckles, “Death Prince! You come for Octi?” He nods, “Hope you don't mind, I brought company.” She glanced at me, ghoul-green eyes unsettling me. The girl looks me up and down before shrugging, “Misery loves it and all, right?” She's wearing paint-stained overalls with bare feet. We step into the apartment, and the first thing I notice is all the _stuffing_. Everywhere, all over the place. Then the papers and the paintbrushes, an easel set up in the living room with the television playing static.

“Octavian! Nico's here!” Redhead calls. Nico nudges me, “This is Rachel Elizabeth Dare, local artist in the area. Pretty good at it, too. Does a lot of modeling down by the college.” I nod quietly, wanting to scream when she whips back to me, “That's me!” She grabs my hand and shakes it, raising a thin eyebrow at me.

Right. My name.

“Jercy Packson.” Shit. Rachel laughs at me, patting my shoulder roughly, “That's gotta be the best name I've heard yet. Octavian's on his way, make yourself at home, guys.” Nico sighed, staring at the ceiling. He tugs me towards the kitchen, leaving me there with a quick, “Stay put. Don't touch anything unless you want missing fingers.” When I give him a questioning look, he clarifies, “I will amputate your hands.” Which in itself is worrying.

I lean against the counter, where I have view of the rest of the apartment. Nico strolls in circles, idle chat with Rachel as she splatters paint everywhere. Eventually, a bleach-blond boy creeps from the hall to the bathroom and bedrooms, icy eyes and thin frame. Gotta be anemic, or something.

“Hey Nico.” The boy, Octavian, greets. Nico nods, bumping his fist, “Sup Octi. Got my stuff?” The blond nods, rummaging in his sweatpants for a ziplock bag, “Sure I do. Here,” He hands it to Nico, then folds his arms, “Who's your friend?” Nico glances back at me, “A friend. Self explanatory, I think.” Rachel is quiet, seeming to have done this on multiple occasions. I can tell the...dealing isn't her thing, it's Octavian's.

His pale eyes bore into me, and I shift a little. Nico clears his throat, “Payment? Or I'd be happy to leave scott-free.” The blond barks a laugh, “In your dreams, adrenaline junky.” He's quiet for a moment, before humming, “Bonfire beach night, huh?” He looks Nico up and down. From his boots to his mussed hair. Nico nods. “Drop by next week with fireworks. Leave it in the PO.” Nico nods, then claps Octavian on the shoulder with a smirk when he stumbles, “A'ight. Done deal. I'll see you guys then.” He beckons me to follow him, which I do quickly. Rachel waves to me, meaning I return it with a tentative smile.

Octavian walks us to the door, and grasps my wrist with spindly hands that grip far too hard for somebody as frail as himself, “Before you go, introduce me?” Nico stood at my side whiplash-style, holding Octavian's wrist with enough force to crush it, “Off, and maybe I will.”

Reluctantly, the blond lets go. Nico smirks, “Jercy Packson.” Then he's saluting the blond, kicking him back into the apartment and shutting the door. I raise an eyebrow at him, letting out a breath, “What the fuck?” I hiss. Nico shrugs, squeezing my shoulder, “Everyday dealing,” Like it was something casual. Though, I guess it was. I sigh, trying to drain the tension from my form, “Okay. Okay, whatever. You do you thing and let's get the fuck outta here.”

He grins at me, “Y'know, I'm starting to love the pretty words that leave your mouth.” I sigh, rolling my eyes, trying to steer my mind from a dark place full of the mind of a horny teenager.

“Yeah? Well, get comfortable; I'm not going back any time soon.” That could be interpenetrated in more ways than one.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hitherto  
> hɪðəˈtuː,ˈhɪðətuː  
>  _adverb_  
>  Until now or until the point in time under discussion.
> 
> (Because, like, there's talk about Friday Beach Bonfire Night, but it's not happened yet.)


	4. Beach Bonfire Bust

_"Tell me your heart doesn't race_  
_for a hurricane or burning building._  
_I'd rather die terrified,_  
_than live forever."_

\- Joey Comeau

*

**CHAPTER FOUR**

“For the love of gods, Percy! What are you _doing?!_ ” I shrug, standing on my windowsill, four stories from the ground. My mother, she's frozen at my bedroom door. Her face is a picture of horror, fear resembling broken glass. 

She makes a move towards me; I shuffle backwards. My heart's racing in my throat - this jackrabbit beat, but I feel my blood sing symphonies and harmonies. There's a grin on my face, “I'll jump.” She's near tears, I can see it.

“Get down from there, sweetie, please!” A desperate plea that sounds rehearsed and false. I scoff, stubborn, “Why? So you can tell me more about stories that I want to live in?” I don't know where the words are coming from, but they feel  _right._

My mother makes another terrified face as I shuffle back more, “Percy!” I smirk - heart still racing, blood still screaming, “Yes?” She flexes her hands, “What are you trying to achieve?” Desperate, pleading. She already knows the answer, I know she does. 

I only have one more inch. I look at her, and grin wider, “The _rush._ ” And then I fall.

* * *

I blink, finding soft skies above me and the fading heat of sunset halfway blinding me.

Nico's beside me, quiet as he soaks up the sunlight. The billboard we're on gives a good view of the town, I decide. The billboard itself is defaced by many different tags and colors, obscuring whatever advertisement had once lied underneath. I love it anyways. Nico's music streams from his phone, a pleasant mix compared to the heavy metal he played in McDonald's.

God, that feels like weeks ago, now. It was only a few hours prior..

He's sitting at my feet as I lay on my back, one leg crooked, one arm cushioning my head. The air smells like oxidizing metal, though that may just be the frame we're lounging on so casually, along with whatever smoke came from Nico's slowly trickling supply of cigarettes.

I turn to look back at the sky, smiling to myself. I can feel his cool gaze on my jaw, “What's so funny, Shark Bait?” I shrug, as best I can, and continue to smile, “We should jump.” Nico's quiet, before peering down to where his feet dangle, “Maybe later. We've got a bonfire to attend.” I yawn quietly, “Just a few more minutes? It's on all night, right?” He hums, relaxing against the vandalized board once again, “A few minutes wont hurt.”

I don't say that it's because I like the company of just us, alone and free to simply breathe and exist without purpose further than to take up space. Nico doesn't need to know that, I decide. I've been deciding a lot of things for myself, since I've left New York. (Since I've left the grasp of my mother,) I'm inertly worried about this power. Though, it's not enough to make me stop.

Closing my eyes, I feel the breeze run through my hair, the warmth of the air on my skin. There's occasional movement, until Nico slumps, laying beside me to stare up at fog-like colors merged into the scenes above us. He takes a hit, then breathes it out with his next few words, “Want some?”

Opening my eyes, I find him holding his cigarette out to me. I take it, smoke a little, and pass it back. I hold it in as long as I can, until my lungs burn, and let it escape through my nose. I've gotten progressively better at it since Wednesday, and I don't think that's as bad a fact as people seem to think. “Thanks,” I murmur. The air around us is oddly delicate, fragile; a veil of something consisting of tranquility around us. If I'm to speak any louder, I believe, I will ruin it.

Not that Nico would care, I don't think; he's ruined a lot of things. He tells me so, has told me so over the span of this week. Admitted them to me in the quietude our time together gives us, through twisted laughs and not-quite-there glimpses through his guard. He's fascinating, so very intriguing in a way that I find hard to describe, so I'll say indescribable.

He's more than the eyes deceive; I know this. He's got a mindlessly mindful way of acting, mindless in the sense that he isn't thinking about the fact he's doing it, and mindful in how he makes sure that every outcome will be in his favor, whatever actions he does has consequences that wont come to haunt him later. Cunningly conniving is another factor that is unorthodoxly alluring about him; cunning and conniving coming hand in hand, I suppose, cunning to the brink of thinking like a fox, and conniving to the point that black and white blur into a mottled gray that is more dark than light.

I feel him move beside me, and his bittersweet breath is on my face, “We don't have to go, y'know.” That's not his concern for me, though he's masking it as such. I peer at him through lidded eyes, “Don't you want to go?” There's hesitancy, as he looks away from me. He uses his cigarette as a distraction, I've noticed that throughout the earlier hours of today.

“Not really. I know I got you hyped up and everything, I just...” He shrugs, looking doldrums and ashen-faced. I hum, “Well...there's always next week.” He nods, “There is. There's always a next week, and a week after that, and week after that. Over and over. Tradition.” Sighing, he sits up – I miss the warmth instantaneously.

Nico runs a hand down his face, “Fuck it; we're going. Sound good?” I nod, “Your call, Ghost King.” He huffs, shoulders tense. He swing his legs to dangle over the edge again, fingers buried in the mess of hair that's rich against the backdrop of burning golds. The Golden Hour, photographers call it. Not that I'm anywhere near handy with a camera.

“I just – I don't want it to be my call, honestly.” I hum, sitting up with him, an arm over his shoulder, “So you want me to decide?” He nods, refusing to look at me. It's understandable, in a different, darker light. He's made decisions throughout the week, whether it be with friends or his home life. He decided to say those words that pushed his father to kick him out of the house for the night. He'd decided to point out the translation of _Chienne_ this morning, to get a rise out of her. He'd decided to help me out this afternoon.

He'd decided to smoke,

He'd decided to let his mind darken,

He'd decided to run recklessly, in need of something more than what this life was willing to offer him, and to find something to make his time worth while on this earth made of broken dreams and sleepless nights.

I pause. Maybe deciding things for myself is scarier than I anticipated. Proof is beside me, in the form of this disheveled deity. I huff a quiet laugh, “I say we stay up here until I lose count of the stars,” Curiously, his crow eyes glance at me, “Then, we stay a little longer.”

A grin cracks the desolateness on his face, everything shattering until it's him again, “Sounds good to me. You in?” I nod, bumping his fist, “I'm in.”

* * *

 

I've counted roughly fifty-two stars to this moment, and the skies only just gone deep navy. Some of the city lights have turned on, looking like glowing rectangles against the backdrop of nothingness.

Nico's been silent for the past ten minutes, boneless as he's sprawled on the billboard. I worry he'll fall, though I know he wont. One of his legs dangles over the advertisement, the other one bent at the knee. His arms fold behind his head, cigarette cherry bright and red in the sky, like a far away beacon. I smile at the idea; it's his beacon – beacon of the runaways. _Calling all adrenaline junkies to headquarters – STAT!_

I wonder if he's comfortable up there, spine balanced along the unstable framework of the billboard. Then I decide it isn't worth thinking about; if he hasn't said anything, then there's no point questioning.

A few cars pass the streets below us on occasion, though not frequently, and I guess _on occasion_ was self explanatory. There's movement, and then a thump and the sway of the frame as he lands. I smile over to him, stealing his cigarette to take a hit. He just rolls his eyes at me, shifting around to sit cross-legged. The stars shine in his eyes. I take this moment to realize that his dark eyes never reflect the sun, more so swallow it than anything flattering, but have no problem spitting moonlight back at you.

Ruffling his hair, I sigh, “Fifty...eight stars.” I realize I lost count; it's now the time where we stay a little longer. I sigh again, huffing, “Oops.” The dark haired boy rubs his eyes, nodding, “Just a little longer.” Humming, I nod with him, “Yup.”

'A little longer's silence is ruined by Nico's phone ringing.

The boy groans, and glances at the ID, “It's Lou.” Sighing, we both know this moment will be cut far too short for either of our likings. Nico answers, “Sup Lou?” There's collateral noise in the background, music bursting through speakers and cheering, “Dude! Where are you guys?!”

Nico rolled his shoulders, “On a billboard.” I imagine her rolling her eyes, then scoffing, “Well get off the fucking billboard and hurry your asses!” I chuckle easily enough, “Okay, okay – we're coming. Calm your tits.” Lou gasps, then blows raspberries, “My tits are perfectly chill!” Then she hangs up, and Nico shoves his phone back into his pocket. “You heard her; let's go.”

He stands up, stretching a little. I stand up with him, watching the grin on his face cautiously. Before I can ask, he's lunging for the streetlight below. I gasp, “Nico -” I thoughtlessly reach for him, leading to me stepping off to plummet.

My heart jumped into my throat, eyes wide as the ground rushes to meet me – Nico's hand catches my arm with an iron, steadfast grip, “Shit, dude! If you wanna be a lemming so bad, wait 'til we get to the fucking beach, at least!” I gasp, looking up to see him dangling from the streetlight with a grin on his face. I find myself falling into hiccupy laughter, unsure whether to cry or scream.

Nico grunts a little, looking beyond me, “How far down?” I force myself to look, dreading every second it takes, my stomach twisting in knots. Only a few feet. I tell him this, though my hand's managed to grasp his arm as much as his to mine. He nods, whistling merrily, “Think you'll survive that?”

I give him a bug-eyed stare, “What the fuck are you implying?” Nico shrugs, jostling the both of us, my fingers now digging bruises into his forearm. He doesn't seem annoyed by that, “That I slowly let you go and you land. Then you catch me.” This is stupid. Bullshit, asinine, chicanery. Right up his alley. He's giving me such a joyous smile, like this is something he does every day just for kicks – oh right.

I sigh shakily, squeezing his wrist, “I trust you.” Which probably isn't something I should do, but I do, and I'll do so freely without the nagging voice of my mother screaming at me to look at what he's done to me. (Well look at me now, mom; my knees are bloody and my heart's starting to get used to the heat.)

Slowly, our grip starts to slack, until he's gripping my fingers, “Ready?” He looks like a god, peering down at me with those crow eyes, moon at his back. I nod, “Always.” Then he lets go, and there's a brief moment where I feel weightless – organs jumbled in my body and a pressure on my lungs that is oddly pleasant. It's all slow motion as I watch the ground come to meet me. Then I land on my feet, grimace, then fall flat on my ass. So that's going to hurt.

A choked, near hysteric laugh leaves my mouth.

Craning my neck, Nico's still holding onto the streetlight, peering at me with something akin to pride. I quickly slot that look somewhere safe before standing up. Wincing, my ankles feel sore and tender, I move with my arms out, “Ready?” He smirks at me, “Always.” Then lets go. He brings his knees to his chest, hair flying everywhere; he looks devastatingly breathtaking.

I catch him, if only just. My arms clumsily wrap around him, the momentum dropping me to my knees. I decide it's worth it to see the exultant expression on his face, momentarily blissed out with a dazed sheen over his eyes. I chuckle, “Earth to NASA?” He blinks, then hums, “This is NASA, over.” I grin, and end up simply hugging him on the concrete. Nico looks up at me from his tiny position, “We ready to haul ass?” I nod, “Let's go.”

He carefully stands from my arms, holding a hand out to me. I have a bout of déjà vu as I grab it, allowing him to haul me up. I gasp a little, ankles and knees protesting, “Ouch, ouch. Okay – fuck, that's gonna leave bruises.” I babble. Nico glances at me, rolling his eyes, “Oh please, be happy you didn't fall on you head, numbskull.” I chuckle, “True.”

He whacks my arm as we walk, “Stop stealing my one-liners.” I grin at him, “Nah.”

* * *

As we near the beach, the more the ground seems to pulse under my feet. Music started reaching my ears, a convulsing crowd of bodies surrounding a source of light that released crackles and collected fireflies.

So many people I'm unfamiliar with, all of them moving and shifting their forms in the flicker of the firelight, eyes gold and golden only because of the bonfire and all features accentuated by harsh contrast. Nico weaves through them easily, his hand on my wrist like an anchor to ground me as I hear the murmurs and the whispers. I'm new to the pack, and it didn't seem many were happy about this recent development.

A few calls of, “Sup Nico!” Made it through, and the boy smirked back at them with whatever their name was. We skirted around the fire, warmth blazing against my skin, before he were headed over to a large hunk of driftwood that curled like the trunk of a tree. On it, there was Lou, Cecil, Will, Jason and Reyna: familiar faces. Nico tugs me until I sit next to Will, and Lou swings down from the top of the structure, “Finally, assholes! Where were you?”

I shrug, “Uh, around.” She snorts at me, then twists to peer at Nico, “You were visiting O again, weren't you? Where's the stuff?” Nico huffs, tugging the baggy from his pocket and throwing it at her. Jason turns to me, grinning, “Hey dude! When'd you get here?”

I half-shout over the music, smiling back at him, “Just now!” He bumps my fist, nodding, “That's great! Somebody knew to try and squint at instead of these dumbasses!” I chuckle at him, nodding. I turn a little more to wave at Reyna. She smirks back at me, acknowledging enough to do that before turning back to a native-american girl with braids in her hair.

I can't hear much over the music – most of it being heavy metal and screaming nonsense, which I guess makes sense considering the crowd. A girl catches my eye – eyes themselves similar to Jason's with their electric intensity – with dip-died blue hair and a leather jacket. She looks similar to Nico, that way; pale skin, dark hair, heavily kohled eyes and a mystery smirk.

She comes towards me before I can blink, eyes glued to the little skull Nico drew on my arm earlier, “You with di Angelo, huh?” She's on of the older kids, I realize. The way she walks is far more cocky, tongue pierced along with her ears, “Figures. Lost pups like you always get dragged along by him. What's your name, newbie?”

I clear my throat, to be heard, “Percy.” Cocking her head, she grins, “Percy, huh? How 'bout you come with me -”

Nico's brushing past her rudely, shoving her a few steps away, “I thought you were across the country, soiling your family name, Grace?” He comes to fold his arms in front of me, looking far bigger than he actually is. It may be the fire, but I watch spite and resentment flicker brightly, along with his manic, temerarious smirk that comes to the surface when the girl, 'Grace', flinches at his remark.

She huffs at him, “Oh can it, di Angelo – At least I've got more to my name than what your trigger-happy sister brings to yours.” Nico's shoulders tense, his boots shifting in the sand. Jason jumps up, “Oh Thalia! Hey, why don't we -” Her blue eyes glare into him, “Lil' bro, let the Big Kids talk.”

Big Kids being the ringleaders of either group, it seems.

Jason huffs, red in the face. Reyna grabs his wrist, standing, “Back to your side, Thalia. You have no business here; none of us have provoked you.” Lou slithered beside me quietly, crossing her arms angrily, “Goddammit – it was all good 'til she showed up.” I can't help but feel at fault for that. When her words caught up with her, Lou's dark eyes glanced at me, “This isn't your fault, dude – Thalia's like this. Some deep shit between them.” She nods to Nico and Thalia.

Will nods, running a hand through his hair, “Thalia's part of this girl-gang: took Nico's sister abroad for a weekend – she never came back, though she's still livin'.” Cecil hums, “Nico's got some beef about it; blames Thalia for it. Kicks up some real ground between them.” I nod quietly, humming. So...Nico has another sister; the one he got the bullets from, according to Thalia's _trigger-happy_ comment.

The blue eyed girl rolls her eyes, “Whatever, dear praetor. See you 'round, di Angelo.” Nico shrugs, pulling out a cigarette, “Unlikely.” Thalia saunters off through the crowd, who had all at least glanced at them throughout the conversation. It was strange; how split up the kids were in this presumably tight-knit community.

“How come we've never seen her at school?” Jason huffs, hand in his hair, “Dropped out.”

Nico waves at an impish boy with copper eyes and a gadget in his hands, “di Angelo! What up, hombre?” Nico snorts, departing from the driftwood (and me,) to walk over and ruffle the shorter boy's hair, “Not much, tipo. What're you working on?”

I hum along with the tempo of the music, realizing what they meant about _vanilla –_ there wasn't much going on, a basic sort of event. I wonder what it's like when there's entertainment.

Cecil chuckles from above me, rolling himself a joint with the contents of the drug bag, “So, not what you were expecting, huh?” He calls down to me. I shake my head, “Not really – more like a social event.” Will nods, humming as his foot tapped in time with the beat – it was blaring the speakers a little, but it was a good song.

I nod my head to it, trying to avoid the curious eyes that glowed like ravenous wolves in the firelight. Nico returned to me, sitting at my feet, “I'm bored.” I snort, “We've barely been here five minutes, man.” He shrugs, eyes swallowing the flame with his crow eyes, “So? I might just bail. Bring back some booze to make this interesting.” Lou pumps her fist, “Fuck yeah! I'm all for it -” Will reaches behind me to slam a hand over her mouth, “Heck no, Lou. Did you seriously have to rile her up?”

I chuckle to myself. There's a few people that look at me with less-canine eyes, genuinely curious but afraid to near me because of Nico's place in front of me. I ruffle his hair, “Well, let's hang around a little longer, see if some shit happens. If not? _Then_ we'll bail.” Nico cranes his neck to grin at me with sharp teeth; he is a wolf, after all. A wolf with crow's eyes and the disguise of a black sheep.

The track playing turns to something calmer; acoustic tunes and a soft melody. Nobody seems bothered, happy to fall into contented chat around us. An alternative, diverse bunch. And I'm not just talking about my group.

Nico lights up a cigarette, handing another one to Lou before she can mooch off him. I steal one, too, letting the boy at my feet light it for me. The rest look at me with shock, Jason with brotherly disapproval he has at his disposal and Will with an exasperated look, like somehow he had anticipated this. Lou claps me on the shoulder, “ _Dude!_ ” But says no more than that, as many eyes stare at me with this weird look of approval. Apparently I've been accepted into the pack.

Simultaneously, me and Nico exhale smoke, and I watch it curl strangely. Before the fire, the two clouds mingle into a mog of blue-gray and orange. Nico smirks up at me, “We've got it perfected, Shark Bait.” I laugh, settling my cigarette between my teeth to talk, “Oh yeah?” He nods, then leans back on my knees. I'm happy to let him rest, watching the previous tension mollify and the complacency apparent on his face.

Reyna giving me this knowing look, and I have a feeling it's not just because of the fact I'm changing from the Mama's Boy on Monday to _this_. She knows something (maybe how I'm romanticizing Nico's lips with every cigarette I smoke, or the way I indulge myself in this adrenaline being gifted to me every chance I can get.) I'll never know.

“Hey Death Prince, who's your boyfriend?” A boyish voice calls, and another girl is making her way through the crowd. Whilst Nico's peers held begrudging respect mingled with fear as he weaved through, this redheaded girl only received trembling knees and wary eyes.

She was built like a fucking mountain; hair held back by a bandanna and a pair of fiery eyes, like the rest of them. Though, she was less wolf and more bull, as she kicked a smaller kid out of the way.

Nico shrugged, “My boyfriend. Self explanatory, I think.” Twice he's said that today. I laugh at him, “Friend. I'm Percy Jackson,” I try to say, forcing myself not to swallow. “Sup Clarisse? Long time no see,” Nico stands agilely, allowing himself to jostle around as she clapped his shoulder than tucked him up against her side, rubbing her harsh-looking fist into his hair, “Gotta say, pretty early of you to pull that stunt today. Bitch had it comin', though. Thinking she could just strut 'round like she's earned our respect.”

Nico snorts, nodding, “Damn straight. Where's Chris?” Clarisse hums, “Hasn't shown up yet; I think his mom's holding him back for some homework, the dork.” Nico nods, looking around, “I think I see him now. How 'bout you go to _your_ boyfriend, huh? Show him that delicate, sissy side.” Clarisse barks laughter, punching him in the arm, “In your dreams, pipsqueak!”

He grins as he waves her away, “Away, foul beast! Return once your prince's kiss turns you to something prettier.” The redhead chuckles, jogging off to Chris, the figure slowly approaching the beach.

I huff as he returns to my feet, “Do you know everybody here, or what?” Nico nods, taking a hit and puffing it in my face. I don't flinch too much, end up inhaling half of it. He groans quietly, closing his eyes as the world around us continues like we're insignificant. Small, only specks in the scream of the void.

Smiling down at him, he peers up at me, “I wanna run and never come back,” He mutters to me. I run a hand through his hair, “Sounds like you got a case of drapetomania.” He shakes his head in denial, “No, I just want to see that there's more to the world than _this bullshit_.” He waves his cigarette to the mingling bodies before us, to the starry skies and the calm ocean a quarter of a mile away.

I look around further, to the small city up on the land, to the trees that coat the cliff side. I shrug. He continues, quietly, and I feel like it's only specifically for me to hear, “For there to be _something_ that's keeping my sister out there, something worth adventuring, that there's actually things _worth_ living for, worth finding.” I sigh, feeling my heart turn cold as I take another glance over everything.

“I wish I could tell you there was,” In his dark eyes, consequentially crow-like eyes that seem to have already read my answer before I voiced it, there's resolution that must've been there for eons to bare its teeth at me this boldly, “But?”

I shrug helplessly, “There isn't.” He's quiet, boneless between my legs. He takes a hit from his cigarette, smirking to all the obliviousness that plagues the people around us, “Then I'll make my own _something_.”

There's a consciousness to my growing smile. Another song blasts from the speakers that are unidentifiable in the crowd, but I figure is somewhere near the fire.

 _We're born to live, we're born to die, we're forced to swallow these pills and never ask why_.

Ironic.

* * *

Hours fly by, though I'm unsure of how many, and throughout the duration of said hours, Nico stayed between my legs, like a guard dog baring his teeth at anybody he didn't like.

Lou had wandered off to mess with the sound system, a Fall Out Boy/Panic!At The Disco song (20 Dollar Nosebleed,) playing out. Cecil was higher than the Empire State Building to be engaged in conversation, and Will had been dragged off by a dude named Jake to a private area further away from the fire. (They're totally hooking up.) Jason and Reyna had gone off to enjoy the ocean while the tide was still low, looking like an iconic picture of the perfect couple.

“Can we ditch this shithole yet?” Nico asks me. He's finished his cigarette box, and I know he'll start getting irritable and crabby the longer we stay out here. So I shrug, and nod, “I don't see why not. Nothing's happened.” He grins up at me, and I have a feeling I'm going to regret this.

Standing to his feet, brushing sand from his jeans, he grabs my wrist and suddenly we're sprinting across the beach to the waves that are starting to pick up by the line of rocks that lead out to sea.

Nico doesn't stop when we start hitting the tide, but he lets god of my wrist in favor of leaping onto the sea groyne and racing across recklessly. I chuckle, jumping up after him and a little more cautious in how I follow him. Some of the pebbles are loose under my borrowed boots, and I slip a little as I hurry along. Nico's laughter is loud over the waves, and I find something jumping in my chest at the fact I can _hear_ him again. Really hear him; his voice loud and clear.

And then he's jumping into the spray, the wild waves of high-moon tide engulfing him. I panic – does he know how dangerous that is?! - and dive after him. I didn't realize this part was so deep, I watch him float around in the under current, eyes wide in the darkness. I can barely see him, just what the moon shines light on.

I kick towards him, grateful that I swam for the entirety of my school life in New York. The saltwater's stinging my eyes a little, but I endure, solely to watch him grin at me through the water.

I allow myself to float along beside him, his hair wilder than I've ever seen it, and his skin near bloodless in the cool depths. I say depths, but we're not too far from the surface, really. I think it's just the lack of reef below us that's giving me this illusion. An illusion that I love.

(I totally don't sneak a peak up his shirt when it billows upwards.)

His necklace of bullets gets dragged up in the current, but it's caught around his head still, so he isn't too bothered about it. Nico grabs my hand – my _hand_ , not my wrist, _my hand_ – and squeezes with that close-lipped smile. He looks jejune.

Pointing upwards, I race an eyebrow. Reluctantly, Nico nods, and allows me to pull him up. My lungs were starting to ache, after I wasted my air. Though, he's subdued as he comes out, like he wanted to stay there until the brink of drowning. And though, I understand why, I won't let him.

Nico chokes a little when he surfaces, the water clumping his eyelashes and the cold making his eyes a little bloodshot, “Sorry, didn't mean to drag you in after me,” He pants. I shake my head, tugging him a little closer, kicking to keep us afloat, “Nah, I love swimming. But...now we're drenched. We'll have to go back to the fire.”

He hums, staring up at the sky. I watch him pull away, back on the waves as he gets jostled around a little, “...Let me loose count of the stars, and then we'll go.” He throws at me. It's reasonable, so I cross my arms on his stomach and set my chin on them, “Okay.”

It's a few minutes before he sighs, shiver coursing through his body, “Okay, so maybe I've lost count now.” I nod, smiling at him when he glances at me guiltily, like he's ruined my fun, “Let's go, then.” I freeze for a moment, “ _Shit is my phone in my pockets?_ ” Nico shook his head, “It's in your old jeans at the house.” I sigh, nodding, “Okay, okay. Good.”

We swim back to the sure, me chuckling at Nico when he shakes himself off like a dog. He drags me over to Lou and the gang, “Hey, we're heading back, we'll see you later.” He says. Jason looks us up and down, before sighing, “Go home, guys – you'll get sick.” Reyna salutes us, “Addio.”

The streets are quiet, and I only just realize that it's past midnight, as I see the moon past full peak. A couple bars are still open, a 24 hour Ralphs, and the McDonald's by the retail park will be undoubtedly still running.

We're leaving tracks of seawater in our wake and I can't help but see it as a quickly fading memento of our marks in this city that Nico so intransigently claims is hopelessly damned. His hair is dripping, my nose is red, and our soft breaths are lost to the breeze. I grin at him, docilely, to find that he's fiddling with the bullets around his neck, “Hey, c'mon, don't worry about that now,” I tell him. I decide that the smile he gives me is a little too small and terribly lacking in that infamous quality that can only be named audacious in both definitions.

Nico blinks up at me, starlight in haloing his hair and moonlight silvering his eyes; it's uncharacteristic, but it's fitting all the same. He's a child of the moon, that's what my mother would've said – those with the ability to capture night's beauty more than day's was somebody born under Artemis' moon. That in itself is ironic, considering she was the goddess of the hunt. (It's one of the only things, I think, that I'll remember of my mother and hold it dearly without an ounce of spite.)

“I'm not worrying about anything,” He mutters, clammy hand brushing mine. I nod, water dripping down my nose, “Good.” My clothes are heavy, but instead of washing the salt from them, I think I'll just leave them to dry – I've always enjoyed the aroma that came with the ocean, and with the fact that this was a memorable night- eventful or not – I want to keep the ocean stench as a reminder.

We near our homes, and I stop just as we turn the corner, “Meet me once you've dried off.” Nico doesn't question me, but doesn't verbally respond, either. Just a nod. Good enough for me. We pump fists before parting.

I find myself hopping up the living-room windowsill, using it as leverage to grab my bedroom sill. I climb through, tracking water over my desk and onto the carpet. Not that I care. Toeing off my borrowed boots, I put them on the window to dry out, and shuck off all my clothes. My tank-top, the jeans, the socks and underwear – everything. It all gets strewn over the door to my closet or hooked on the open drawers to dry.

Then I rush to my closet, pulling out the darkest pair of jeans I own and another New York tank-top (gray this time.) Stretching, I shake my head until it's just damp, and there's water spatter all over my walls. Sighing, I try to be quiet as I wait for Nico.

He returns in a pair of skinny jeans and beat up converse, a baggy _Hard Rock_  sweater on. His vulpine grin is back as he pulls a pack of cigarettes from a black leather satchel he's got strung over his shoulder. I grin back, tugging him into the room. He stumbles on the desk, and I catch him in my arms; carrying him to my bed and sitting him there. “You've gotta buy me dinner before getting me in your bed, dude,” He whispers teasingly. I feel the tips of my ears burn, and I smirk, “But I've already gotten you in my bed once this week.” To that, he closes his mouth in defeat.

I make a motion for him to stay put, before I sneak down to the kitchen and open up the junk drawer near the back door. Grabbing two flashlights, a box of long-lasting glow bands. Then, I juggle them in one hand whilst I steal a roll of duct tape and a bundle of fairy lights.

Tiptoeing back up to my room, I find Nico curled on my bed, face buried in my comforter. I chuckle, opening his bag and dumping my stuff in them. He raises an eyebrow at me, curiously trying to peek. I nudge him away, “C'mon,” He gets up, allowing me to grab hold of his wrist, “Where?”

I grin at him, starting to climb out my window, “We're making that billboard ours.” He perches on the windowsill as I land a little clumsily on the lawn, holding my arms up to him. Nico lands in them lightly, too focused on deciphering my words to notice that I'm carrying him on my hip along the deserted streets, save the the odd drunken bar bird.

When Nico blinks widely, coming from his reverie, he doesn't protest as violently as I thought he'd would. Rather, he quietly asks, “Am I too heavy?” To which I briefly wonder how he can ask such a thing when he feels like nothing more than a pillow, long limbs around my neck and hips, crossed at the joints. I shake my head, before he cocks his head, “Am I bothering you?” His damp hair drips onto my forehead, and I shake my head again.

So he stays there for the majority of the walk. It's quiet, and I can hear crickets among the lawns we bypass. His breath is warm against my neck, his nimble hand fidgeting with a cigarette that he has yet to light. “You can smoke, y'know; I wont mind.” I tell him. It seems to be what he's waiting for, since he fishes a lighter from his back pocket and lights it up with hurried movements.

The tension drains from him after the third hit.

I follow the familiar path to the specific billboard I have in mind, the one that overlooks the city in the perfect way and catches the edges of the beach and sunset all the way up there. I huff a little when we come to a stop, twenty minutes later. Nico cranes his neck up, “Our billboard, huh?” I nod, “Whatcha think?”

He grins at me, sliding from me to stand, “Fuck yeah.” I nod, starting to hike up the power-line pole beside it and hop onto the rigging before settled onto the platform. Nico's following me, yawning a little as he jumps on with me, “What did you put in my bag?” He inquires. I take it from him, emptying the contents onto the platform with us.

Two packs of cigarettes, a kitchen knife, several packs of gum, two cans of Red Bull, his wallet, a pencil case and sketchpad fall out. I blink at the mess, “Dude, you have a girl's purse under the guise of a satchel.” Nico shrugs, “Yeah.” I shake it a little more, and my box of long-lasting glow bands, duct-tape, flashlights, and bundle of fairy lights tumble out, on top of the mess.

I poke at the knife, “Should I ask why?” I glance at him wearily. He shakes his head solemnly, “I wouldn't.” I carefully set the kitchen utensil back in his bag, along with his other belongings. He takes a hit from his cigarettes, “So now what?”

I shrug, “There a junkyard around here?” He nods, “Past the abandoned mall.” I nod, “We'll get scraps from that and build on this thing.” He grins at me, nodding as he looks around, already picturing something, “Sounds good.”

“For now,” I stand up with the fair lights, “Let there be light.” He raises an eyebrow, “How the fuck are they gonna get power, dude?” I point to the power-lines barely a few feet from us, “Well, that's what the duct-tape's for.” He hums, scratching his cheek, “I'm liking this.”

I grin, “Why wouldn't you? C'mon, you get this end and start stringing it around, I'll connect it to the fuse.” Nico nods, taking the bulk of the bundle and starting to wrap it around the framework of the billboard and stealing strips of duct-tape to stick it up specifically across the advertisement.

Hopping over to the pole, I use the footers to stable myself as I fuck around with the fuse box. I attack to the plug among the slots in there, and watch the string flicker to life. Nico gives a whoop, “We got power!” I laugh with him, “Nice vocabulary there.” He's strung _FUCK_ along the graffitied advertisement. He nods, hands on his hips, “Isn't it?”

Chuckling, I turn back to the fuse box and try closing it a little, so it wont be expose to rain. It shuts without trouble, the fairy lights sneaking through a gap in the metal casing. I jump back, slip, and catch my arms on the edge, “Little help?” Nico snaps from admiring his work to hauling me up.

The lights warm on his face, and I wish I'd bought blue ones now, but the pale yellow ones will work. They flatter him more, I find. “What else you got, Shark Bait?” I hand him the box of glow bands, “Long-lasting. Knock yourself out.”

Nodding, Nico takes half the box and starts snapping them and looping them around the fairy lights like ornaments. He takes the blue ones and bunches them up into one, long line of glow-in-the-dark bands. Since they're curved, they make a cloud sort of formation, which he tapes up around his _FUCK_ on the board. I chuckle at him, coming to ruffle his hair, “How often does it rain here?” He shrugs, “Not often. Mainly in the winter.” I nod, “We still got time to work on this, then.

Under my arm, he nods, “You busy this weekend?” I shake my head. He grins excitedly, “Then we've got all the time in the world. I want to kiss him, suddenly. It didn't have to be his mouth; it could've been his nose, his forehead, his eyelids or his cheek. I just wanted to kiss him. I decide not to, which pains me, but also saves my tail.

Nico grabs the flashlights, clicking one on and scanning along the platform, “Wooden planks would fit good up here, I think. And we can fake a permit; my brother's good at that, in case any cops ask us. Though I doubt it; they'll be too lazy come Fall.” I nod, humming, “Whatcha wanna call this place?”

He's quiet as he sits down, legs dangling a little, “I dunno. It's your idea, you name it.” I sit beside him, arm over his shoulders. We stare of silently to the tiny speck of flame on the skyline, where the gathering was still alive despite our leave. Only backs up my fact of how insignificant we are in the unmoving, uncaring scream of the abyss.

I settle my cheek on his head, and when he didn't shove me away, I remained. “Let's be edgy and call it Hell.” He snorts at me, nudging me with his elbows, “I'm serious. What do you wanna call it?” I peer down at him, humming, “I honestly don't know. Let me think on it.”

He nods and leaves me be, knees to his chest. Nico tugs at his phone out at some point, putting on soft music I didn't think matched his phone case; but it fit him. I rummaged in his bag, and stole some of his gum – strawberry. I smile at his choice.

_Sorry I didn't kiss you,_

_But it's obvious I wanted to;_

_Bubblegum down my throat,_

_And it's a curse -_

_But my luck couldn't get any worse_.

I nod my head to it a little, humming with the tempo; a melody I already sort of new, but the songs were lost to me. He starts singing quietly, his voice bittersweet, and though it's not the best, I find myself loving it anyways. I find myself doing a lot of things, recently.

“'Cause I swallowed the bubble gum, oh and these seven years will be pretty dumb,” He's smiling, looking pretty in the moonlight, and I sigh quietly. He's nodding his head, with me, fingers tapping a staccato beat that shows how many times he's listened to this song, considering every tap is exact and soft all the same. I wonder if that's where the calluses on the tips of his fingers came from.

_Pink flowers from my skin,_

“Pepto bismol veins, and I grin.” I squeeze his shoulders, whispering over the music, “Do you listen to songs because they mean things to you, or simply for the purpose of hearing something?” He glances at me, “Most of the time. Why?” I shrug, “I'm just thinking.”

Eventually, I mutter, “New York.” He snickers at me, “NY?” I nod. He sobers, “Okay.”

* * *

He's sprawled on the platform, light dazzling the edges of his eyes, moon bright on his form. I don't know what time it is anymore. Probably far too, late, since the fire had died on the beach, from where I could see, and people had dispersed twelve to fifteen minutes ago to crawl into their beds.

I shuffle a little, stretching from by his feet to fall onto my side. My arm calls over his thighs, but he doesn't seem to mind. “Thanks,” He mutters quietly, his phone long dead now, but the remnants of music still lingering in the air. Humming, I ask, “For what?”

He shrugs, hand wandering to curl it's nimble fingers into my hair, “For putting up with us;” Him, Lou, Cecil – the bad kids, the ones not many care to look at unless you're people like Jason, like Reyna or Will, “Not many do, and it's...it's nice to have a new face to look at if, I'm honest.”

I'm quiet, and I watch his spare hand fiddle with the bullets on that string around his neck. “I've only had them – and...and my mom, when I was smaller. She...” He inhales deeply, and I heart it catch the back of his throat painfully, “She warned me about... _those kids,_ y'know? Y'know, and I listened to her a lot, because she was my only parental figure until my dad picked me and my sister from child-services after her death.”

I blink up at him, paying my full attention. Not to boast, but I must be special if he's willing to tell me this, of all things. “So...when my sister ran away with those _damned fucking Hunters_ , and my dad started sleeping around,” Must be how Hazel came along, “I just...lost everything, I guess. I became something worse than what my mom told me about, and I burned whatever had her face on it. So...yeah, thanks, I guess.”

Smiling up at him, I lean into his hand, “You're welcome. And – fuck, y'know, thank you, too.” His curious crow eyes look down at me. I shrug, “I got to meet you. You could've done a lot of things in that situation, y'know...” Suicide, run away, “So I'm glad you're here for me to meet.” To love, to cherish, to slowly fall victim to when he breaks my heart, but I decide to keep that to myself.

He gives me a shy smile, something I've had yet to see on his face. It's breathtaking. Nico swallows whatever bitterness lay on his tongue, “Uh...yeah; you're welcome.”

Turning to face me, on his side, he curls his knees up – causing me to be dragged up to come fact to face with him. Nico tugs at my tank top, offering part of his bag for me to rest my head on. It's not comfortable in the slightest, two boxes and two cans poking into my head along with a pencil case, but when I have his waist under my palm and his hair in my face, I don't bring myself to care.

My phone starts ringing, and I pull it out to find my father calling. I answer it, putting it to my ear, “Hey...” He sounds tired, but fretting with a non-fatherly sort of lack in concrete worry, more so like a friend who lost me at a party than a father who's missing a child in his house, “Percy? Where are you? It's five in the morning and you're not back yet. I've got to start getting to work soon, and Triton's home for the weekend.” I curse under my breath, before humming, “I'm nowhere, dad.” I must be tired to clumsily slip up on his name like that.

“Are you with Nico, at least?” I hum, then yawn, “Yeah.” Poseidon sighs, “Where are you? I'll come pick the pair of you up and take you home.” I shake my head, Nico frowning at the phone in my hands. “I told you,” I murmur.

“I'm nowhere."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I know there's like a wtf moment between Nico and Thalia; I also know that though it isn't very canonical, I imagine that Nico and Thalia would have more rivalry due to the events of Bianca, very much in the way that Percy and Jason have bouts of competition sometimes. I find that I translated it a little harshly in this, due to Nico being the character I've played him off as in this, so I feel he'd take a more hostile approach to the main reason his sister left him. Just an FYI, for those that don't understand that tidbit.


	5. A Rebarbative Perspective

_"Adrenaline tends to kill the pain."_

\- Audra Major

*

**CHAPTER FIVE**

There's a moment of weightlessness as my feet leave the windowsill, my heart frozen and my lungs crushed of all air. She rushes to the window, staring down at me in horror.

It's the look of a mother terrified of the monster they've made. But the thing is, I'm not a monster. I'm just me, influenced by another, to embrace the darker parts that most fear.

There's a lazy grin on my face, the wind screaming in my ears as I plummet four stories. The sky's bleak gray, like any other New York sky, and I wonder if I'll survive the fall to see more.

I doubt it. It's worth it, I find myself deciding. My mother's shriek is a piercing echo, lost to the traffic only a sidewalk away from me. Falling, closer and closer; trashcans to break my fall.

Somebody catches me. I look at their face, finding crow eyes and wolfish teeth, tongue embroidered with silver.

* * *

I climb in through the window, tree brushing my back as I push it open and rest on the sill. My room's dark; as it always is – a repetitive theme to the household. Disheveled bed, closet door still half-open from Sunday morning; the shoebox under it still intact and holding memories I'm stuck between wanting to burn or to cherish.

I hear shuffling, the hallway light flickering on, and a quiet yawn as Hazel peeks into my room. Her feline eyes are half-lidded, her head a bigger mess than it will be in the morning, after I've worked a hairbrush through it, “Nico?” Humming, I toe off my boots and kick them in the vague direction of me bed, jacket shucked off and left on my closet door, “Did I wake you? Scusa, sorellina.” I murmur to her.

Shaking her head, Hazel yawns again. She holds up her hands, grabby fingers flexing in the dim, “I've been waiting for you to get back.” I wince, aware that it's an asinine time past midnight by now, “Oh Hazel,” I sigh, picking her up, “You didn't have to do that.” I settle her on my bed; she's adorable, swamped in my hoodie. I wonder when she stole this one.

Her eyes slip closed, and she shrugs drowsily, “I know.” It doesn't help that I'm still wide awake. So I sit beside her and quietly turn on the lamp, pulling out a picture book from beneath my pillow. She turns to me, curling up against me like some sort of koala, small arms reaching over the hollow of my ribs to reach the other side. It's like being encased by a pair of hair straighteners; searing heat where the clamps are, the rest of you receiving chills from lack of attention.

I've suffered worse, so I don't make too much of a deal. As long as I'm up in time to drop Hazel off at school, I should be fine. It'll also be good if Hades is out for work by the time I get downstairs, though that is unlikely due to his schedule. Plus, it seems sort of disrespectful to wish somebody dies tomorrow morning, in need of immediate prettying at the morgue.

Humming, I stroke through Hazel's hair as I fiddle with my green-sheet; I should use this more. There are still bite marks along the edge from bored chewing in third grade, lost of holes punched in it from boredom in seventh grade, and it's generally worse for wear. I smirk; it's just like this family.

* * *

I sneer at the man at the kitchen table, cowering behind his newspaper and coffee. Hazel's invisible as always to this man, and every time I catch his eye, he's glowering at me. I can see it clearly: _disappointment_. He's right, but it's not like I'm going to put up with his bullshit.

The sun's crawling through the blinds, and Hazel's enjoying the warmth as far as I can tell, so I don't immediately snap them shut like I want to. She's wearing her shorts, and that ever favored watermelon shirt of hers. I sigh, noting the way she's holding my hoodie captive in her lap as she packs her bag.

I should probably be taking her lead, making sure I have everything. I don't solely for the fact that nothing ever leaves my bag once I get home. So, humming a melody that annoys the crap out of Hades, I stroll over, “You ready?” Hazel nods, smiling at me, then frowning at the probably glare our father's trying to nail into my spine. Grabbing my hand, she passes me my skateboard a the door – how thoughtful she is – and my backpack.

Throwing my skateboard onto the driveway, I kick the door shut. Hazel hops onto my back, arms around my neck. She'd worry if she was choking me, but after a while, she just went with it. I think that was when she realized that I have bigger worries than suffocation.

Kicking off on the skateboard, we leave the neighborhood. I don't notice the new kid getting into Poseidon's car until we turn the corner.

* * *

Lou greets me at the back of the school, grinning as she leans on her board, “Sup, Death Prince?” I nod at her, “Punk Prissy.” She snorts at me, “Gotta give me better than that, Nico.” I shrug, and follow the green-haired girl into the school. Lonely halls, familiar airs of _kill me now_ and the deactivated security cameras that haven't functioned correctly since Freshman Year.

I tap my board on the linoleum flooring, humming. The tune bounces off the walls, Lou's cackle soon following as we pass the guy's bathroom. The door's wide open, Cecil on the floor with the Stolls as they clog up the bathroom with cannabis. “C'mon, pothead! We got a cowboy to annoy in the music studio,” She jeers, Cecil's bleary eyes rolling to her. I can't tell if he's high yet, or if he just hasn't woken up.

Speaking of.

Tugging my pack from my pocket, I light up my cigarette and take a drag, “Haul your ass, you can hang out in the chemistry lab after school if you're that fucking adamant on drugging up.” With that, he's stumbling to his feet with a sigh, waving to his half siblings as he bumps my shoulder, “Wassup guys? What're...where's mom?” He's high, I conclude.

“We're gonna get him, numbnuts, now let's move it.” I kick him lightly, moving him into gear as I hop up onto my skateboard. Cecil starts into a jog, the three of us unhurried this early into the day. Smoke drifts around me, momentum forcing me to breeze through it with every hit I take. “Hey, you guys heard of the new kid?” Lou asks. I shrug, “Lives 'cross from me.” She's backwards on her board, swerving whenever memory tells her to, “Anything else?” Shaking my head, a drop the dead butt of my cigarette in a wastebasket, “Nah. Hazel'll know. She's friends with Tyson, after all.”

Cecil squints at me, eventually just gripping my arm to ride behind me, “Wait, wai...Poseidon 'cross street? So...so newbie's Sea God's kid?” I shrug, pulling out another cigarette, “I guess. I don't fucking know. Hazel said she saw him in Poseidon's car.” I get a quiet, dazed _huh_ from him, but not much else. Fucking pothead; no wonder his grades are so bad. Not that I can say anything, but whatever.

We turn a corner, and duck into the double doors of the studio. We're quiet – gotta give Will some respect for his love – boards under our arms, Cecil in Lou's grasp by his collar. Dumbass can't even walk right. I smirk at him when he walks into a pillar.

Will's talking up a storm with his sister, Kayla, but I don't care too much about what they're saying. Probably something about their dad again; that's all they're ever talking about. “Oh, oh; he might be fillin' in for a substitute t'day, y'all,” or “He's meant to be comin' home t'night, so I ain't goin' nowhere t'night.” As cynical as I am, I don't have the heart to tell him it's a load of lies. He means well, after all.

His blue eyes catch us, and we wave. The blond quickly wraps up the conversation, jogging over to us, “Mornin' y'all.” We grin at him, beckoning him to follow, “How're you doing, cowboy?” He grins, “Oh, dad's mean to be fillin' in t'morrow, so s'all pretty good.” Instead of snorting, smirking, or anything that would've shown how much I don't believe him, I bite my tongue.

Last time we had a debacle over this topic, I left him with teary eyes and a busted lip. Even then; he'd given me black eyes and a fractures collar bone. (Mostly because I hadn't wanted to fight.)

I drop my board back down as we reenter the hall. Catching Lou's eyes, I curl my lips, “Bet you I'll reach the tree first.” I sneer. She scoffs at me, rolling her eyes, “In your dreams.” And that's it: we're gone, only thing left being the marks on the floor. I hear Cecil call out with a drunken laugh, and then Will with a curse of, “For heaven's sake! It ain't even eight-thirty yet!”

Now, let me explain this: I don't know why I like to rile up trouble. But I revel in how my board's wheels screech around the bends, how Lou's hair is a blur of Grecian hellfire. She's grinning, angry determination in her eyes. That fuels me, spurs me to kick off with more force and whiz past her and burst through the doors. Sunlight stabs me, and I grimace a little.

Then I hear everybody quick on my tail, and I just _have_ to get out first.

I kick up the board to catch onto the handrail that splits the steps, cackling loudly when Lou curses at me. There's somebody at the bottom – I take in dark hair and honeyed skin – before grinding metals meet my ears and I grin. The poor kid yanks his hand back, but I don't feel much remorse, as I jump off and land violently.

Cecil whoops, blurring beside me as my momentum lets up. I still reach the tree first, Lou huffing at me. Timed, I high-five her. Cecil rests on his knees, definitely more alert. Will's stalled on the steps, cherry faced, and I can't help but chuckle. He's a working boy; not meant for much more than lifting weights and walking long distances. Running was a different story entirely.

He's got the new kid concerned above him, but he's panting something about how excitable we are before jogging over. We chuckle, Lou beckoning him, “C'mon Solace!” Will smiles to me, rolling his clear eyes, “Why'd you gotta go starting fits this early?” I shrug, “Bored.” Cecil knocks against me, hand caught in his curls, “Damn, new kids got some looks; you see?” I shake my head.

I totally don't watch his ass sway as he makes his way up the steps, stopped by Jason before being lead through the doors. _Darlin', I hate to see you leave, but damn, do I love to watch you go_.

Will claps a clumsy hand on my head, still huffing a little. I feel sort of bad, but not really. I've never felt apologetic for anything, not entirely, “Quit starin' at him, you weirdo. He ain't comin' nowhere near you with those crow eyes of yours.” I scrunch my nose, “The hell does that mean?” He wipes his forehead with the back of his hand, “You got some scary eyes, s'all.” I huff, “Whatever. Nobody asked you, cowboy.” I get a toothy grin in return, “I know; you love me anyways.” I begrudgingly nod, “I hate all of you.”

Lou leans onto my shoulders, mouth at my ear, “Aww, you hear that? He _loves us_.” I elbow her in the gut, and she chokes. I grin grimly, “I want to watch you all rot in hell.” Cecil perks up, “We're having a sleepover at yours?” I sneer at him, teeth bared. He backs down, hands up defensively, “I kid, I kid.” I hate their fucking gags sometimes.

* * *

I get a close up of the kid when I talk with Jason outside Brunner's hall window.

“What's his name?” I inquire, board boosting me up to the too-high window. Though I have the foundations of the school to blame for that, I suppose. Jason chuckles, “Percy Jackson; says he nearly got his hand cut off by you and your girl.” I snort, “Whatever. She ain't mine; she's -” Jason nods, “Yeah, yeah, I know. She's a mutant runaway from Xavier's mansion.”

Jason shifts, humming, “I think you'll like him.” I raise an eyebrow, “Oh yeah?” He nods, ruffling my hear – goddammit, what was it with my hair? - “Says he doesn't want showing around, so he can use a couple tardy excuses on the first day.” I snort, shrugging brusquely, “So? He's got some lame excuses. Why do I care?” Jason gives me an exasperated look, electric eyes reprimanding, “He's a good kid.”

He ruffles my hair again – I make a mental note to break his fingers - “Just behave, will you?” I roll my eyes, watching Brunner's door open to make way for walking nostalgia. I hate him immediately. His smile's bright as he walks over, directing his next statement to Jason, “Hey dude.” He's got an accent from New York and a swagger to his step that, though it may portray his shaped ass nicely, is making me want to bruise his hips under my fingers. Not sexually, just in the sense that I want him to stop.

Jason turns to him, jovial grin splitting his face, “Percy! This is Nico, I told you about him.” Oh that's lovely to hear. I'll be having words with Jason later about my identity and of whom he shares it with. (Answer: fucking nobody, goddammit.)

Percy comes closer, and I mentally wish I could punch him to disfigure his perfect bone structure. Jason gives me a warning look over the new kid's shoulder, something that tells me to _sit and heel_ , like a good boy. I fight back a glower, instead offering my most hospitable mouth-emotion. His skin is even darker now that I can take a peek – Mediterranean, undertones of ocean greens that I find to be dazzlingly attractive combination – and his eyes are something I've having trouble staring into with my confident bravado. Very much like Poseidon's, the ones my father's so infatuated with, and a megawatt smile to match.

He's wearing denim shorts and a short sleeve shirt; something tells me he's not quiet adjusted to the heat down here. “New kid, huh?” Smirking, I shift my weight a little to rest my elbows on the sill. Jason immediately glares at me over the kid's shoulder. I find fascination in how he swallows whatever capability he had of talking, responding with a nod. I can't tell if he's intimidated or just struck. I cock my head, looking at him from his beat up hightops to his broad shoulders, then finally managing to meet his eyes.

The response is wonderful; his pupils shrink with intimidation, however mild it may be. I can practically feel his mouth dry up. Or that may be mine from looking at his green eyes too many times in a minute. I push away from the window, shrugging, “See you around Jason. You too, kid.”

With that, I kick off, swerving around a trashcan as I make my way back to the guys. (Lou doesn't count as a girl, truly; she's got too much gross-out humor.) I catch Cecil by the neck and noogie him harshly when he waggles his eyebrows at me with the remark of, “Ooh, somebody see a piece of meat?” Lou snorts, unhelpful to his head-lock predicament, “Shut it, birdbrain, unless you want me to smoke up all your dope.” Will catches my shoulder, shoving me away lightly, “C'mon, school's not even begun yet. Let's go, hup, hup.” He makes waving motions, shooing us in the direction of the steps.

I briefly watch Jason converse with the kid. He's probably reciting some _misjudged kids_ dribble again. Ugh.

* * *

“And here I thought I trained you better than that. Bad dog,” I tease, trailing Lou into the classroom, the Solace-Cecil malfunction left to clammer through the doorway.

I'm sort of pissed; Will seems to have gotten on a friendlier level with the new kid, and though it's not up to me to monopolize who he's friends with, it's sort of annoying that I have to put up with his presumably tentative questions and predictably naïve view of things. _Why do you smoke? Don't you know that's bad for you?_ I already have one asshat that does that; I do _not_ need Golden Boy over here spouting the same bullshit.

I take my desk at the back, propping open the window to air out whatever ends up getting smoked before the bell. Knowing Cecil, he might try to light up some more of that crap. I may smoke, but I don't do drugs. That shits crazy-bad, if smoking itself is enough to kill you. I've seen what it does to Octavian.

Lou bounces up to my desk, shoving my feet a little to get herself comfortable. I smile up at her, to which she winks at me. Those are the moments I like: where I can just smile at my friends and it doesn't have to be sanguinary or sardonic. Will eventually stumbles in, shoving Cecil into the seat beside me, himself diagonal. Then he pats the desk in front of me, Percy shuffling over to it and taking a seat. _Goddammit Will_ , you and your kind heart, I swear to fuck.

I think I hear a sigh from Percy; resigned and somewhat defeated, as he did walk over. I have a feeling he was resigning himself to his fate. Looking around, I wonder what he's seeing as he carefully summarizes us with those oceanic eyes of his. He's contented with whatever he comes up with, no matter how _wrong_ it probably is. Asshole.

(I'm not sure where my hostility is coming from, be he pretty much sums it up at lunch with his whole, “I get it, I'm new; you're just being cautious,” spiel.)

Lou occupies herself by getting into Percy's bubble, “Sup newbie?” She's baring her Cheshire Grin, and I'm glad she's not so off-put by this change that she's returned to the shell she was stuck in back in kindergarten. With a shrug, he coolly replies, “The ceiling.” And, okay, I suppose I'm starting to like his wit, from the little I've heard it so far.

Then Cecil ruins it by guffawing, jeering over at me, “Smartass – he might replace you, di Angelo!” To that I snarl at him quietly, quipping, “Looks like he has more logic than you, Marokowitz.” That gets him to shut up, grumbling petulantly as Lou's interest transfers to him. She coos some baby bullshit at him, grin still smearing her dark lips. Will cuts in, shoving my boots of the desk with some input on bullying. Golden heart, good intentions; not with the best of people.

Will says something about a devil's contract, Percy sighing with a mild resentment that makes me want to throttle him – how dare he decide that from just a few words that it's his doomed fate, judging books by their fucking cover. I now that in itself is hypocritical of me – I may not be proud of it, but it doesn't bother me enough to change.

Lou croons down at him, pouting, and that's the moment I decide I need another cigarette. I rummage around; cigarette box on the table, but lighter AWOL. I pat down my pockets, then look around in my bag. Cecil, ever so smartly, asks, “Anybody got a lighter?” Will stares at him with furrowed eyebrows, “Y'all better not be lightin' up in here, Cecil -” Curly shakes his head, “Nah, Nico needs one, I think.” I look up to Lou, “Lou pass me your lighter, I wanna squeeze in a smoke before Brunner comes.”

Absently, she hands me her lighter. I snatch it up with a little to much eagerness, lighting up as I push the sill back up, since it slid down. He's looking at me, a little ruffled – fuck, he is naïve, isn't he? - Will scowls at me, falling into his regular preach on the cancerous provocation that is my 'cancer-stick'. I wave him off, agitated, “Shut it, Solace, I have your lecture memorized by now.” I think it's obvious that I don't, since I never listen in the first place.

Then, I feel a little cruel, so I glance over at the new kid, “You're okay with it, right?” I ask, “Not asthmatic or anything?” He shakes his head, finding the tongue that cat had swiped previously, “No, I'm good.” As a second thought, he nonchalantly adds, “But he is right, just saying.” Go fuck yourself, pup. I shrug, tipping my head back as I take a puff, “Whatever. I'm dying anyways, why not quicken the process?”

Lou wrinkles her nose, poking my cigarettes offhandedly, commenting something critical about my choice. I shrug, offering her some flippant answer that I don't care too much about. I listen vaguely as Will and Percy get into a conversation, the former opening a can of worms with the tales of middleschool. There's talk about how Lou knew me longer, how we're _good kids, really._ My interest is peaked when I hear, “Death Prince, over there, was a disruptive sociopath -”

I feel compelled to interrupt him, oddly, despite that I've heard this many times before and never once felt the need to paint myself in better lights, “Lies.”

“Oh yeah? What about Tanaka?” That fucking bitch. She needs to jump off Jersey Bridge.

Forcing the growl from my voice, I mutter, “She deserved it.” Nobody bitch-talked Hazel. I hear Will explain my 'deadly deeds', then shift as I answer Percy's query of, “Why were you kicking up such a fuss about kindergarteners?” I feel like he's slowly working himself from my immediate blacklist: he's unafraid to voice questions, and though he is sort of a bumbling jackass, he's admirable for his lack of hesitancy in such a shift in environment.

“She was picking on my sister.” I watch idly as he swallows the information harshly, “Oh,” Then an awkward nod, as he's still trying to digest the information, “Understandable.” Not really; my motives will always be questionable on some level. I'm aware of it, yeah, and I don't find the instant need to change. Then again; I don't change for anybody.

And then Will falls into his talk about how we're not as bad as he's making it sound, that we're kind kids, really, and that we're just a little violent ~~and in need of intensive care in the Juvenile Delinquency Unit~~.

It sickens me, the faith and belief Percy has in my friend's statement.

He doesn't know what he's agreeing to.

Everything falls quiet, as if it's back to our regular routine, save for the canker sore in front of my desk, and I'm content to inhale the rest of my cigarette and chuck it out the window. Eventually, boredom's familiar tick comes in the form of a bouncing knee and the indescribable itch in my fingers. I force myself from my chair, strolling to Percy's desk. His head's tipped back, eyes closed. I find him somewhat idyllic like that, more tolerable.

He's growing on me, I'll give him that.

Knocking on his desk, I tilt my head. He's looking pretty chilled out where he is, and when he smiles up at me, it's no _tentative_ per say, but he's conjectured, “Hey.” I nod at him, idly wondering how far I can push him until he gets scared off, and hop up onto his desk.

The next conversation I have with him wins me over a little more, though I'm reluctant to admit it.

* * *

I make my way to the door, huffing with amusement at Percy's shrug of, “What can you do?” My bag bounces a little on my hip, since I've only hooked it by one strap, and Tanaka – the fucking bitch, I swear I'm going to club her skull in like a baby seal – swings her leg out to trip me up. To avoid such a thing, I ground myself by snagging a handful of her extensions. I tug; coming with a clump of synthetic hair. I leer at her, malicious as I drop them on her head. I step out, her raucous sound splitting my brain on the way.

I shove my hands in my pockets, against the wall as Beauty Queen of the Movie Scene slams the door shut without as much strength as she was wishing to show. Mr Brunner folds his arms, peering up at me disapprovingly from his chair. I examine my nails, remembering how Tanaka's blood had been sticky and just plain _ick_ back in middleschool.

“Mr di Angelo,” He starts, voice low in a reprimanding way that nears patronizing. I raise an eyebrow at him. Why does he pause so frequently? Why is he so emotive within the way he looks at me, how his hands fold a little as if he's saying, “Hey, I know, I get it,” When he _quite fucking clearly_ doesn't, if he's getting ready to lecture me and/or make me apologize.

“While I understand that Ms Tanaka's comment about your sister is...a sore subject between the pair of you,” You don't know shit, old man, “It is your provocative that started this in the first place with your own insult of 'troubling'.” He raises his eyebrows pointedly. I shrug, pococurante, “Is that so?”

I don't like how his gaze flickers up and down. Tanaka beside me snickers, “Yes, you junkie, you hear that? It's your fault, therefore, you're to blame for this mess.” I watch my sod of chewed paper sluggishly drip from her hair, “That doesn't change the fact that your hair's fucked up.” Self-consciously, she reaches for her hair and pulls back the strands that were gumped.

Snickering this time, I turn to Brunner; before I can open my mouth, Tanaka lets out an outraged noise, “You're paying for new extensions, you fucking mistake!” I turn to her, grinning cruelly, “Oh, so original; does your mommy tell you that?” As she backs down, I widen my eyes and gasp, “Hold up a fucking second -that's right,” I level my face to hers, glad for my height over her, “She's abandoned you, to live a better life in Paris.”

Mr Brunner clears his throat loudly, “That's enough, both of you.” It really, really isn't: I know for a fact this will forever be thing that wont die down easily, the pair of us digging the hole deeper and deeper each time it rises up. We'll bury ourselves above the bedrock and argue til we die. Tanaka seethes, foaming at the mouth with a fury in her kaleidoscopic eyes that will never match the anger I feel in my gut.

It's simple basics: she's a cat, I'm a dog. She'll scratch, I'll _mawl_.

“Nico that is not how we talk to a troubled student about their home lives, and the same for you, Drew. Both of you have issues with your parents, and as such, I find it disgusting that the pair of you prey on it to dig up old wounds.”

Shrugging, I glare at her murderously, “She'll never look at you like she does your sisters.” I hiss, stepping back into the classroom, Drew's cry of pent up emotions like haunting melodies in my ears. I've sickened myself again, with my actions, but it's not like I'll change.

* * *

I...I'm not as angry as I thought I'd be to notice that Percy was slowly acquainting himself with my circle. He's got Jason and Will down easily, warming up to them with their charitable attitudes and friendly smiles. Lou's somebody he's got just in his grasp, Cecil too busy toking up with the Stolls to pay any attention. Reyna's somebody he's gonna have to crack down on to befriend. She keeps slipping glances at me, something calculating and questioning simultaneously. Sending me questions to which I struggle to answer.

That I don't want to answer.

That I don't know _how_ to answer.

Percy pulls from her handshake, reassuring her that he was overall harmless. I flick ash at her, “Shut it, you guard dog. I'm perfectly capable of -” And here's where she snarks, bites back at me as much as I do to her, and it's this quality that I love about my sister in arms. She's unafraid to gnash her teeth in the face of the voice, very much like I am, and it's just...it's _good_ to know that the people I surround myself in are on relative pages to my own. Though I'm ahead by maybe a few, Reyna's easily on my tail, the rest following after.

Batting away my hand, she chuckles, “Of what? Jumping from the second story, of breaking every rule in the school? Don't worry, fratello, I'm aware.” And, sure, she may have just dug up memories too fresh for me to deal with, it's a _good_ sting she claws under my skin. She's put me in my place (something that Lou, Will or Cecil are too afraid to do.) I become petulant either way, spoiled rotten until decay, I know, and huff, “Shuddup Rey, nobody asked you.” I asked her, a long time ago, to help show me the lines even if I didn't follow them.

Percy's watching this, laughing, and I duck my head to hide my smile. I'm...yeah, he's okay. My blacklist holds many names, but not his. No more. He's won me over in the span of hours, and I wonder how far he'll sink his talons before he tears them back out like everybody else does. (The world's consenting punch-bag.)

I like Percy, I think. He's brave, he's got a spark for something more than Monday's Mama's Boy that he's brought with him from New York. The way his mind seems to slot things together is admirable, more admirable than the way I knitted this bunch together as clumsily as I have, creating unfinished stories to our very character, with the promise that he'll finish the stories later. He wont; he never will.

The kid wins Lou over with his apple, has won her over since the start simply by being a fresh face in this washed up town. He's got Cecil by the strings he held up by, and I find myself not the only one holding the pothead up with the brusque, unforgiving manner I cant get myself to kick, and I'm glad. He's another ray of sunshine to the bare few in this group. Something better than what I can offer, what Jason and Will can give combined.

He's meticulous, throughout the day. He'll be bold enough to speak his mind, to input his opinion into what we're discussing, will change the topic to something without guidance and it's – yes, it's something I have trouble doing, so I just sit out most of the time. But...at the same time, he's learning, albeit a little slowly. However, we all get off to a rocky start, really, so I don't comment. Laughing, he'll stop it short if nobody else finds it amusing, and if we laugh with him, he's encouraged to show off more of that pretty smile.

Angelic; that's the word I was looking for. Not naïve – considerate, aware. Not naïve, not a fumbling jackass without a backbone. No, he packed his backbone, but had a little bit of trouble reattaching it to his skeleton without a little help. God knows I didn't help much.

And yet, I find him glancing at me, smiling at me when I bother to look back. All I can offer is my cynical smirk, and he remains undeterred.

* * *

The next morning, I want to throttle everybody within two fucking feet of me. I'm very much ready to snap Lou's neck at school, considering I haven't had my cigarette or coffee. I found mild joy in frustrating her on the way, the only a little, the rest of me just felt disgusted that I was bugging the crap out of her.

She tells me Percy has it, reassures me over and over that he has the cigarettes, and when we find him, he'll give them to me no problem. She's starting to fret now, I can see in her mossy eyes, but I don't have enough of a heart to soothe her worries. I all but bite Percy's head off when he finally arrives, and yet, he just smiles and hands them over with a chuckle, “Here. Sorry I didn't get them to you yesterday.” He's sincere, puppy eyed and sappy smile, even at my crude greeting of, “Gimme.”

I don't know how he's lasted so long – my general asshole-ishness and my bitter cynicism would've scared off any sane person by now. But he just happily slots himself between me and Lou, grinning as he gushes over his dubbed nickname: _Shark Bait_. It had been Lou's idea, and I had been determined he'd hate it.

But here he was, telling me how it was such a creative idea, how he liked it, his eyes reflecting that he likedus...liked _me._ He's making my heart palpitate at speeds it only should when I'm being reckless and brash. Like a dose of adrenaline to my veins, and all I'm doing is _talking and conversing with him_.

And, quite frankly, I'm terrified.

* * *

I watch from the windowsill, the rough-looking pentagram and the Cecil offering to bloodthirsty messiahs that want my bones jutting from their jewelry. I tap my cigarette on the sill, smoke billowing out the window.

Will's close to combusting, I think, asking the gods what he did to deserve this, why is he such a bad parent – what the hell did he do to get stuck with the madcaps like us. Percy's ill reconciliation, patting his shoulder with that smile that's sympathetic but also just finding this entire scenario hilarious.

They share something sappy, something I don't care about despite my sweet tooth and how drenched in sugary ichor his words must be. There's teasing, jokes of summoning the devil, “I'm already here, aren't I?” I say somewhere in the blur, and then the comments of my deadly father start filtering in and I overreact in a childish way to hide up how close they are to the truth, how close they are to the fear I hold for my father and the simultaneous hatred I hold even more for his damned existence. Without him, I wouldn't exist: I think it'd be better that way.

Shark Bait's smiling at me the entire time, a softness to the edges of his eyes that makes my stomach squirm with worms I wouldn't normally find all to gross. Then I realize it's the rotting can of them that acts as my heart half the time, and how he's opened it without so much as a glance. I smirk back at him. If I speak now, I think all that would come out is worms drenched in blood and heartstrings.

Again, I'm terrified. I turn back to the window, smoking away whatever life was left in me.

* * *

“You're tolerable company,” That's all I can offer him at lunch. I can't say more, like I can't say more to the others, because otherwise I'd be vomiting my heart on them, along with the butterflies in my stomach I get from talking to all of them: they all mean so much, and Percy's steadily climbing the ranks, and it's scary. That's something I'll never admit out loud.

I just want him to feel welcomed, accepted, if only my vocabulary could broaden from slurs and limited affection. He smiles at me anyways, chuckling, “Oh, I'm sure it's more than tolerable, if you've kept me around this long.” And it's obvious he has no idea how true his words are, and I'm happy to keep it that way. To keep him strung along, to convey _somehow_ that he's right, I smirk, “Are you sure I'm not keeping you around to throw you under the bus if necessary?”

I watch in fleeting moments how his expression falls for a moment, before realization snaps like a whip in his green eyes and on his megawatt smile. He lets out a laugh, “Something tells me that's just you testing me.”

Pausing, my mind hiccups. He sees more than he lets on, has a mind that works faster and picks up more than his oblivious nature tells me. Then I shrug, “True.” I tap my cigarette, bashful, “A weird thing I do, but yeah.”

He punches my shoulder, and I don't think he knows how it tears my heart into a staccato of fucked up beats that skip painfully and jump to fast in deregulated patterns. The understanding tone to his voice makes me want to vomit, “I get it; I'm new here, and you're cautious. It's normal.” I find myself breathing out mirth with my next hit, smiling a soft smile that's reserved for Lou and Reyna – it petrifies me inside because I didn't consent, he just tore it from me and brought it to the surface, and I've never known anybody to do that.

“I guess. Nothing's normal, though. It's an abstract concept,” I cover.

He nods, sipping his drink as he leans up on the wall beside me, “True.” I raise an eyebrow, grinning, “Stealing my lines now, Shark Bait?” He splits his own grin, and I know then and there I'll never match it's tsunami characteristics that will break any girls' heart if they knew it wasn't for them specifically, “Oh totally, y'know, because I can totally be a bad boy if I put my mind to it.”

I don't reply immediately, and I watch the doubt that flashes across his face at the fear he'd said something wrong. I smoke quietly, analyzing him in a way that I'll never make sense of, but end up cataloging him chronologically from mild acne that I find adorably patching only a tiny bit on his forehead to zits that aren't there. A to Z of nothing and everything, before muttering,

“We'll make a monster out of you yet,” _You just don't know that it'll be a subsequent process._

His words get stuck in his throat, and he's lost, so he quietly turns back to his cola and drinks. I smirk around my cigarette, bitter and bile in my throat.

* * *

Cecil's just stupid, I conclude, not for the first time within our friendship.

He punches Percy's shoulder, grinning victoriously, “Aw, dude! You look like a land shark!” I glare at him, “Land sharks are lawyers, asshat.” He scratches his cheek dumbly, squinting at the ground, “I thought – Sharknado, and...” I don't even know what that has to do with lawyers.

Percy seems to understand, chuckling, “The sentiment is appreciated, dude.” I'm glad _somebody_ can appreciate this dumb fuck's stupidity.

* * *

“Who's this...bitch?” he inquires quietly, wincing after the cuss. I glance at him from my stupor momentarily to smirk at him, before I snarl, “He's trying to _fill the gap_ ,” I hiss, “With some twenty dollar whore who has deep shit against me.” And Hazel.

Persephone's a mega bitch in general. Hates me, hates Hazel, sneers at any family portrait that doesn't have her in it, and slobbers all over my dad like he's a piece of meat. She's got mad claws on the ends of her fingers and has no issue trying to shove me into a box and ship me off to Australia where all the criminals live.

Percy doesn't have any self preservation instincts, it seems, as he says, “She can't be that bad -” I feel my mouth contort into something hideous, my anger causing me to all but tear my wristbands up to show off bloody welts and scabs the motherfucker left me. “Oh yeah, no totally,” I snap, guilt flooding me afterward, “She's a dime.”

“Harmless,” I babble, “A wonderful fucking _cunt_.”

He's stupid enough to put on a soft tone, a hand on my shoulder – firm and grounding, despite how much I want to loose my head in the clouds and never have it reattach itself to my shoulders. “Well hey,” He winces at my scratches, and stitches up a smile for me, “Who says you have to go home to see her, huh?” My initial thought is that I've broken him.

“I mean, sure, your dad said you did – but...something tells me you're not the type to listen to him, right?” Yes; I've broken him. He's broken, I need to send him back to New York to get him repaired and replaced by Monday's Mama's Boy with the honey smile and the puppy eyes.

I watch him carefully puzzle together pieces of information he's gathered of me throughout the first two days of knowing me, and I watch him mouth a few undecipherable words I'm too busy flipping tables about to give a fuck. I hum, anger draining from me. He has a point; he has me pinned up on his cork-board and he's pinning up notes around me to find the easiest way to defuse me and it's terrifying that he's learning so well.

I'm bloody-hearted and my ribs crack a little.

* * *

It's amusing, the wide-eyed look he's giving me after the phone call with his father. He refutes a few splutters at me, before resigning and sighing, “Seriously, just...it's whatever. I forget you're not exactly...”

I grin at him, “Sane? Understandable,” He gives me a sad smile, like he knows that I'm dumbing myself down to a more acceptable behavior, knows that I'm wasting away in this deadbeat down and unsure of how to fix it. Unable to deal with it, I briskly stand up, “C'mon.” I grab his upper-arm, and suddenly I'm dragging him to Neverland.

* * *

He's grounding, a reality to the dysphoria I so often get myself lost in.

He says I can't jump, tells me I'll die a gruesome and inevitable end to the rocky abyss at the base of the cliff. He's an an enabler and a disabler, I'll find later on, Friday, Thursday, Wednesday.

He's willing to argue with me, and he'll let me bully him into situations that I myself don't want him to join me in, but I'm a sick and twisted creature that enjoys the suffering of others like a dying parasite. And he's all gung-ho for anything I throw at him, taking it in stride with an easy grin and eyes that portray the fear that he can't keep up with me.

There's a nagging voice in his head, I can see it; and I feel melancholic when I realize that his voice is as similar as the one I let burn in the fading images of my mother. He's burrowing himself further and further into my tight-knit tendons.

He's come to me with blunt teeth and bitten nails; far from a wolf, far from anything dangerous, and he's asking me to make him something volatile. How can I say no?

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Would you guys like me to do this every five chapters? Nico's subdued summary that slowly catches up with the rest of it? I dunno, I thought I'd just try it out; show you guys Nico's violent train of thought throughout this.
> 
> Let me know or something, if you guys don't like it, I won't do it again.


	6. Sickly Saturday; Run Until You Hack Up Your Lungs

_"When you're sick,_  
_there's nobody who takes care of you  
_ _like your mom."_

-Trisha Yearwood

*

**CHAPTER SIX**

My savior grins crookedly at me, before craning his neck to my mother. I follow his gaze, subdued, to find she's quiet fury and cold eyes. She hands half-way out the window, and I wonder if maybe she had been scare for my death rather than her perfect boy shattering.

He chuckles darkly, but his smile turns sweet as he glances at me, “C'mon,” He murmurs, setting me on the ground. My legs are jelly, and I end up with my arm around his shoulders. Warm; firm, a grounding sensation. 

It feels natural. I glance back at my mother was we start moving; but her back is to me. Abandonment, as I have chosen a path she had said was prohibited. A chill tingles up my spine, but it's soon forgotten as he tugs me along.

As we walk, the gray concrete crumbles to sun-bleached sidewalks, cracked and rundown. I watch the sky swirl from bleak to hopeless, always in a forever sunset state. I could get used to this; a dry air, though still heavy and humid, is no longer as cold as I am used to.

Turning to him, he's only small, and he's melancholy on the end of his cigarette.

* * *

I wake up to Nico curled into my side again; face against my ribs as his thigh is strewn over my calf. Chuckling, I gently stroke through his hair, and wonder how it is that he manages to get down there every time we fall asleep.

Sitting up, he moves with me, eyebrows furrowed adorably as he grumbles. “Nico, c'mon.” It's possibly only an hour or so later than when we fell asleep; the sun up only a fraction more. He reaches to rub his eye, other hand anchored in my shirt, “Five...five more minutes.” I shake my head, softly sighing, “No, c'mon Nico. Let's go home.”

I need to turn the lights off, too. He lets out a pitiful noise, as if sleeping's all he had in life. Something broke inside me at the pout that pulled his face. I grit my teeth, looking away, “Nico, wake up.” He blinks blearily, huffing, “No.” I smile, running my hand through his hair, “We've gotta get home.” He fumbles around in his bag, cigarette box and lighter pulled out, “Shit, what time s'it?” I shrug, “Seven, I think.”

Nico's quiet, smoking his cigarette in long drags that have the thing disintegrating within two minutes. I cock my head, “Pass me one?” He drops the box in my lap, and as I slot one in my mouth, he's lighting it for me. Not chivalrous, but kind. Maybe as some sort of apology for being grumpy.

“Where're we goin'?” He murmurs, staring at the sun with a look of _put me out of my misery_. I wonder if he's like this every morning, and if so, I find it to be a fitting characteristic. He slumps against me, throwing the cigarette but over the platform. “Home,” I mutter, feeling relief run through me with every puff. “Sounds...good,” He mutters.

Nodding, I carefully stand up with him, pulling him to the edge, “We ready?” He shakes his head, “Fuck no.” Then he's leaping across to the streetlight, dangling from it before shuffling along and sliding down it. I follow, no longer finding myself scared – though that may just be me just waking up – and drop to the ground with a grunt.

“I don't wanna go home,” He grouses, kicking the ground. I shrug, “What about Hazel?” Nico yawns, “She's at a sleepover with Frank or whatever.” Humming, I grab his hand. I love that I'm able to do so, that he's not shoving me away and it's just amazing, “Well, you can come to mine?” Quietly, he stares up at the sky. He's paler than I remember, and he's got a little bit of a runny nose – a redness to his eyes to says sleep deprivation and circles far darker than normal. I wonder if I look the same. I think he's caught a cold.

“Sounds good.” He muttered.

* * *

 

Nico falls onto my bed bonelessly, groaning loudly when he comes into contact with my pillow. I laugh at him, unconcerned if I wake anybody up. Sitting beside him, I kick off my shoes, putting my dead phone on its charger. Then I turn to him, finding he's already fallen asleep. I take his shoes off, phone on the nightstand.

I yawn, stretching a little; I'm hungry. Leaving the room, I head downstairs to grab a snack. Tyson's still sleeping soundly in his room, and I don't give a damn about Triton, so I head down with a little caution so I don't wake up my little brother. There isn't much in the way of food, but I grab a couple granola bars and an apple before slinking back up the stairs in a daze.

Triton's glaring into my room. At least, I assume it's Triton – he's got swamp-green eyes and a head of short-cut hair, and he's overall unpleasing to look at, though that may just be me. He's sneering, not noticing my presence until I squeeze past him and set my gatherings on the foot of the bed.

He hisses at me, “What is _he_ doing here?” I shrug, “We got in late – uh, early.” Triton scrutinizes me, “That doesn't explain why he's _here_.” I roll my eyes, “I don't see why it's your business.” He clenches his fists, struggling to keep his voice low – it seems that he'd rather complain quietly than have to confront Nico. “Get him out. Now.”

I smirk at him, tugging Nico's cigarettes from his bag and stealing one, “You want him out? You do it.” He stares at me as I light up my cigarette, opening the window to air out the room. “You smoke?” He's forgotten Nico for now. I nod, exhaling, “Sometimes. Mainly when somebody's pissing me off,” I give him a pointed eyebrow.

Triton glares venomously at me, before storming off. Asshole. There's a chuckle from the bed, and Nico says, “Damn. You've got a mouth when you want it,” His eyes remained closed. I shrug, “Just for people I don't like.” Finally, he peeks over at me, “So you don't like me?”

I blink, before leaving the cigarette on the windowsill, “No! I mean – fuck, yeah I like you, dude!” I've become a stammering school girl with a crush. He smirks at me, and I realize he's toying with me. Damn it. “Well, good to know, Shark Bait.” He yawns. I nod, sitting beside him again, “You hungry? I've got health food.” Blindly, he grabs the apple and snags it, “Sorta.” He coughs wetly into his hand, wiping his nose, “Crap,” He sighs, “Don't tell me I'm jacked up.”

I carefully place a hand to his forehead, wincing at the heat against my hand, “Hate to be the bringer of bad news, Ghost King.” He huffs, “Great.” He starts sitting up, “I should go – don't want you getting sick.”

“No, it's fine, seriously,” I tell him, grabbing his shoulder and pushing him back down, “There's nobody there to look after you at home, right?” His shoulders stiffen defensively, “I don't need anybody -” Shushing him, I flop on top of him, “Shut it, di Angelo,” He blinks at me with surprise, maybe at my assertiveness, and his mouth snaps shut.

Not expecting him to do that, for him to actually _listen_ to me, I blink down at him in equal shock. A burst of giggles come out of me, as I slide to lay beside him, “Shit, I didn't think...” His face blooms crimson, turning away from me to bury his face in his hands, “What the fuck,” He whispers. My giggles morph into chuckles, and quickly escalating, “Dude, chill – it's just a little surprising, s'all.”

Nico shakes his head, pulling his knees to his chest, groaning, “Stop...stop talking,” He croaks. I do so, just watching him get flustered and ruffled. It's an odd sight, clashing with his cool demeanor, and I have a feeling he's breaking down or internally combusting. (I think I may have discovered an Authority Kink: I don't know what to do with this information.)

Cautiously, I settle my hand on his shoulder, “You okay?” He breathes deeply, nodding. When he turns back around, he's free of blush and just looks ill. I chuckle, “How about you chow down on that, and I'll take a shower.” He nods, and starts to eat it quietly.

I ruffle his hair, then walk out of the room with my pajamas. I sigh, trying not to think about the past few minutes with him. Though it must have been mortifying for him, I find it ~~hot, cute, sexy~~ funny. It's sort of ironic, I think, stepping into the bathroom and shutting the door.

He'll rebel against anything that tries to control him, and then he's a stammering, obedient little boy if you outright order him to do something. It's an interesting discovery, I decide, stepping into the shower. This is probably the worst time to be thinking of this; in the shower, alone, imaging the flushed look on his face and the kissable quality of his lips.

Needless to say, I'm not that surprised to find hardness between my legs and a heavy weight to the steam in the air. Water rivets down my back, soothing the ache in my muscles that sleeping on a billboard gave me. I don't want to suffer a cold shower.

I wonder if I just stare at it disapprovingly if it'll just...stop being. Past experiences tel me no. I'll ignore it for now, sighing heavily as I grab the shampoo and start washing my hair.

(Nico's hands in my hair, tugging on it whilst his eyes are lidded and nope, nope, nope.)

Dammit. This is pathetic, seriously. Glaring at the dial, I switch it to the coldest setting and try not to shriek at the outburst of frigid water. No, no, no this was a bad idea – shiiiit. I groan, uncomfortable in the cold spray. At last, my hard-on for my friend (eeewww,) goes down. Grumpily, I turn off the shower and towel off with jarred movements.

I slip into my sweatpants, towel around my neck as I head back to my room. The apple core's left on the nightstand, and he's more composed I think. Nico glances at me, and smirks – yes, he's definitely back - “I'd put on your shirt before I jump your bones, show off.” I chuckle at him, “Yeah right, Nico.” Though, his got his mischievous little grin on, so I put my shirt on anyways, “Want some Advil, or something?” He shakes his head, “All I need are my cigarettes, and I'll be better in no time.” That doesn't make any sense.

Sighing, I decide that if he's sick, I'm going to make sure he gets _better_. I swipe the cigarettes from the nightstand, putting them in his satchel before putting it out of reach from the bed. He huffs at me, “Dude, what the hell?” I shove him back down when he tries to get them, “You're sick, Nico.” I say, “You don't need to smoke when you're already coughing up your lungs.”

Scowling, he mutters obscenities under his breath. I sit beside him, chuckling, “We can watch a movie on my laptop?” He doesn't reply. I should've figured he'd get like this. He's still pitiable, though; sniffling and shivering in his sweater. Finally noticing this, I gather him in my arms despite his incessant squirming and pull up my comforter, “Stop it.” I mutter.

He stops. I'm feeling a little guilty about using it against him, but he doesn't seem all too mad; just abashed. He settles his chin on my shoulder, sulking. He really _is_ a big kid when it comes down to it. Or it may just be because he's sick, he's less composed. (That could also how he slipped up earlier.)

I lay him back down in my bed, comforter thrown over him, “There, see? You'll warm up in no time.” And hopefully sweat out the illness. He glares at me slightly, unhappy with how I'm coddling him, “Whatever.” Being sick also takes away his silver tongue, apparently.

“Do you wanna watch a movie, then?” He's quiet, brooding at me. He sniffles a little, then nods, “Yes please.” I try not to be put off my his sudden mannerisms. It's mean of me, but I want him to get sick more often so I can pry him open a little more each time and look under the layer of grime to the little boy running rampant in his chest.

Without comment, I stroll over to my duffel bag by my closet, having had yet to unpack it, and pull out my laptop and cable, “It'll take a moment to fire up; I haven't used it all week.” He shrugs, shuffling over on the bed to make room. I smile at him, and I get a smaller one in return, and then a cough that rattles my walls. Wonderful. At least he covered his mouth. I wonder if we've woken Tyson yet. “What do you wanna watch? I think I still have Finding Nemo in here.” I mutter, pushing the button for the disc to get spit out. Yup. My classic, fishy movie.

He shrugs, yawning, “I don't mind.” Then he hunkers down a little, so his face is level with my ribs – I have a feeling this is just a habit of his, no mystery to it – and crosses his arms over the comforter. He whispers croakily, “Something tells me I'm not staying awake long enough to watch it.” He wipes his nose on his sleeve.

I pull out my nightstand drawer, handing him a box of tissues. “Thank you.” He mutters, taking the box and holding it hostage against his chest. I play around, finally pulling up the movie, “There we go.” I sigh. Quietly, I put my arm around what I can reach – he's really far down on the bed, goddamn – which ends up with me stroking his hair.

He makes a noise, relaxing against my rib-cage with little complaint. He flinched a little when the sound blared from the computer. I wince, turning it down, “Shit – sorry.” He's coiled, pressed against me with his shoulders up to his ears. Settling, he frowns, “It's whatever.”

I don't know what to make of Nico sick. He's all over the place. This should be fun. 

* * *

He doesn't drool in his sleep, not normally, but I've got a damp patch just under my ribs from where his lips are parted. It isn't entirely uncomfortable, but his fingers are digging into my side; he's oddly clingy when he's sick.

My movie ended a while ago, and I've just been spending uneventful minutes carding my fingers through his hair. Nico groans a lot, too, keeps twitching and muttering feverishly. This is one of the things I wish I had my mom around for. Sure, she may have been hellbent on steering me away from a certain group of people, but she was a better mother when it came to different areas of expertise. Such as sickness.

Nico sits up, eyes seemingly glued shut, “I want chocolate.” He says; conviction in his tone, albeit still groggy and not quiet conscious. I shake my head, “No, Nico.” I watch him frown at me, blinking widely to glare at me, “Fuck you.” He's got hunger in his eyes, reminding me of a caged lion. He sits up even more, falling back on his knees, “I want some fucking chocolate.” He huffs, standing and stretching. I get off the bed, laptop left on the floor, “Dude, you're sick and choking on your lungs, get back in bed.”

Flipping me off, he dives for his shoes and wedges them on with his legs extended into the air. I stare at him; wondering how far he'll get before groaning and collapsing. He's already choking again, wiping at his nose. I don't want to touch his sleeve anymore; his awesome _Hard Rock Café_ sweater is ruined.

“Nico,” He blows a raspberry at me, slurring, “Not the boss of me, Caufield.” And I briefly think back to Max Caufield form Life Is Strange. He'd fit Chloe Price pretty well, if I'm honest, but now's not the time the compare characteristics of a fictional character to a real one trying to climb out my window. I jog over, grabbing him by his waist, “Dude – chill, if you want chocolate then just -”

Nico groaned loudly, kicking at me, “You don't let me have my fucking cigarettes! I can't leave this _goddamn town_! Let me have this!” Then he squirms and flails with more fervor, choking on his excitement (phlegm, but some difference.)

I sigh at his frustrated expression. He just looks like a sad child right now. Letting my grip ease up, I get him to look at me, “Only if it doesn't include anything exerting. You're still jacked up.” He smirks at me, adroit, “It won't.” I don't trust the way his smirk morphs into a Cheshire grin.

Sighing, I remember what I signed up for. He's gonna be tearing down my walls if I don't give him something entertaining. So I follow him to my windowsill and hop down to the lawn. Triton should be able to deal with Tyson if he wakes up.

Nico let's out a whoop, and I have to jog after him to keep him in my sights. I don't know where he's going, but I do know that we aren't just simply going to get chocolate for a sick boy. This is going to be milked of whatever excitement this trip will offer him. I sigh to myself, then smile: this is good. I'm unfamiliar with the quiet Nico who had manners and was obedient. This is what I'm used to. ~~It's what I've fallen for~~.

Our feet slam against the sidewalk, echoing through this eternally slumbering town, the sun searing and scarlet in the sky of filtered desolation. And I find, had I been any other person, that Nico wasn't so sick in this light. Sprinting, jumping into a cartwheel at one point – elated to be free. And, I wonder not for the first time, if that's all he wanted.

He says he wants to run from this dead-end town, wants to leave everything behind and search for something worth living for. Maybe he'll search for his sister and feel complete, maybe he'll fly away to Italy and change his name to Ragazzo Caldo. Some day, he'll frame his father with murder, he told me, get the man locked up to rot away for the last years of his life. Nico tells me he'll do a lot of things: I think they're all under the guise that he just wants to run freely.

As I run beside him, he grins at me, “So I may have lied,” He admits, and I'm not that surprised. We turn a corner, and come up to a little shop not all too different from the one a couple days ago. There's a blinking sign on the door that says _OPEN_ , and the windows held a few trinkets that nobody could give less of a damn about.

We turn into the shop, and it's only then that I realize I better get ready for another run. Neither of us brought our wallets. Nico's still grinning as we step in, sniffling a little but otherwise dandy. His face blooms red as we step in, the difference between outside and in causing blood to rush to his face and blow his pupils out until it looks like his eyes are simply black and nothing more.

Snagging a couple bars, and a bottle of soda, he twists on his heel and walks out. Trailing after him, I realize the store wasn't open in the first place, and that whoever had been manning it last night must not have closed it up. “How did you know?” I ask.

Nico shrugs, “Dakota's never sober enough to close up shop.” I don't ask who Dakota is. Something tells me the act we're doing is in spite of the guy. We walk the streets, myself quietly lost on what we're to do now. Nico snaps the candy bar, offering me half. I take it, “Thanks,” He nods, without much word.

I follow him aimlessly. It isn't exactly a new activity of mine, but it's my favorite.

* * *

We're in a junkyard. He'd walked us out of the boundaries of the town, along a creak that undoubtedly lead back to the ocean, and came through a clearing that spread to a junkyard. A fucking junkyard, of all the places he could've taken us. I keep my befuddlement to myself, along with my frustration. He's sick: we could be back home – though I bet he'd scoff at _home_ – and have him being cared for.

Nope! That idea was right out the window, along with the pair of us, apparently!

He grins at me, though, and everything falls away. So much pride on his face, at this scrap-riddled place that was in worse shape than the damned town; and here he is, scrambling up a pile of abandoned cars and items left for rot, beaming at me as if he's showing off something he put an ungodly amount of effort into.

I stare up at him, shaking my head with a dopey smile. I'll never get enough of this, I think.

“Welcome to my home away from hell,” He snickers. I shake my head, still smiling, “Hell's a little strong, there.” Shrugging, he leaps down with an _oof_ , before grabbing my hand – yes, still my hand, not my wrist – and leads me through pipes and window panes to a tire swing hanging from a dead tree at the center.

“Hell's an understatement,” He tells me. I chuckle, “Oh yeah? How's this any better?” He blinks at me, then cocks his head, “I never said it was better.” He's cryptic, as always when he blinks that eerily _seeing_ look into his eyes, before it's gone and he's cackling as he races off towards the swing.

Sighing, I chase after him, “What the hell is that s'posed to mean?!” I get no answer, but he disappears into a large tube that's near collapsed under the weight of rubble and trash. Yet, he's disappeared through, and it's like Narnia, or Neverland. There's whirring, and I'm quick to follow him.

It's cramped, there's a leak from above, and the way it dribbles down my nose in a gray sort of ooze is enough to make me want to gag. I hurry through, knees and hands getting damp where the leak pooled, shoulders squeezing through the half-crushed opening on the other end. I groan, wiping my nose, “Fuck, dude – that was bad.” Nico shrugs, fiddling with a large...box thing. I stroll over, wiping my hands on his sweater; he doesn't seem to mind. I have a feeling Lou does it a lot.

The box, I come to recognize, is a dated boombox. One of the speakers was frayed, a few holes in it, whilst the other looked clogged. Wires spring from a few places, and Nico forced a cassette into it's mouth. “It looks so sad,” I hiss. The dark eyed boy craned his neck to me, “Does it? I hadn't noticed; don't particularly give emotions to inanimate objects.”

I curl my lip at him, nodding my head, “Oh, yeah, sure. C'mon, laugh it up, di Angelo” He winks at me in response, indeed laughing at my minor mortification. I sit beside him on the dying grass, “What's the leak, anyways?” Shrugging, unflinching at the sudden blaring noise from the boombox, he continues, “The River Styx.”

Squinting at him, I raise an eyebrow for elaboration. The boy scratches his nose, “It's a build up of sewer water and tar, I guess. Not entirely sure. There are a few others around here like it.” I deadpan, “All holding Underwordly names, too?” He nods. “This is my haven, I theme it how I want.”

I cock my head, “Lou and the others don't know about this?” Guilt and shame flood his expression for a moment, before they're washed away by an easy smirk, “I love them and all, but even _I_ need a break sometimes.” A break from what, I'm unsure. He fills it in the blanks, “Sometimes...they're too much. And I get I'm the same way – I annoy Will and Jason to no end, and they go off and whatever and chill.” He shrugs, “Who says I have to be any different?” That doesn't sound right to me: he's always different, striding for that difference that could get him out of here. I can't figure out what's wrong with his statement, so I just hum.

He hacks up a lung, chuckling when he sneezes phlegm onto the ground. I scrunch my nose, “Fucking nasty.” Shrugging, he grins at me, “You love it, really.” ~~_I love you, really_~~ ~~.~~ I snort at him, “Who says?” And suddenly he's in my face, nose to nose – I'm not entirely grossed out by how his nose is still a little runny, which itself probably sounds disgusting - “That's the thing,” He chuckles, voice vociferous, “Nobody! Nobody says!”

I wonder if he's one of those that gets delirious when they're sick.

Deciding that it wouldn't be out of character for him, I settle my hands on his waist and hold him still before he jumps up, “Okay, okay; I think we should settle for a minute, yeah?” He scowls at me, “Don't patronize me.” I raise my eyebrow, “Who says I'm patronizing you?”

There's a near lethal look to his eyes, a lion ready to swipe his claw if I don't move the chair away, so I laugh a little, “Okay. Sorry; it's fun. I don't get to do it often.” His eyes soften, and he shakes his head, “You don't need to.” I don't get what he means, but he carefully unclasps my hands and tugs me up, “C'mon, I'll show you the Styx.”

I follow him without much protest; I'm a lost puppy like that. Crushed cans slip under my feet, glass bottles dangled from random structures, seemingly filled with glitter. “We can see if there's anything we can use back at the billboard,” He muses, and I nod, “Yeah; that's be good.” Whatever spark I had been feeling yesterday was gone, exhaustion and the need to just curl in a ball dragging down my skeleton.

Nico coughs hoarsely again, stumbling a little as we bypass an upturned car with a missing passenger seat. I wonder what he's done with it. There's the sound of rushing water, green starting to sprout back up in spurts, until I find us walking along a half-crumbled bank. The river's a slush of rain water, gutter water, and a black ooze of which I can only assume is the tar he was talking about.

Strangely, it didn't smell of anything. Not rot, not ick, just...nothing. Nico grabbed a twig and threw it into the 'river', only for it to stick and slowly get dragged away. “The River Styx, huh?” He nods, “The most enigmatic river to grace this fucking city.” I yawn, he whacks my stomach with a pout, before wiping his nose, “Shut up. I think it's cool.”

I shrug, “And gross.” He pouts at me some more, before huffing, “Well whatever. I'm bored.” I hum, cocking my head, “How about you meet my mom?” He eyes me wearily, “Why would I do that?” I scratch my nose, “I gotta skype her anyways. Plus, it'll give you something to do.”

He's quiet, before nodding, “Just let me freshen up.” I raise an eyebrow, “Why?” He huffs at me, “I need a shower, I need some aspirin and ibeprofen, I want some coffee, maybe some cigarettes -”

Setting my hand on his shoulders, I look at him sternly, “Not coffee or cigarettes.” He groans, kicking my shins lightly, “Why? I'm only gonna be even more of a lil' shit if -”

I ruffle his hair, tugging him under my arm as we start our way back, “Because coffee dehydrates you, gives you a headache – which is what you're trying to get rid of, and cigarettes have a similar affect.” He sighs, then yawns, then sneezes, “I don't like it when you're a smartass. That's my job.”

On a whim, I pick him up and carry him. He growls, struggling, “Put me down!” I shake my head, “No. Stop squirming, now.” His eyes widen a little, but he quietens down and thumps his chin on my head, “Whatever. I'm only stopping because...uh,” He clears his throat, avoiding my gaze. I chuckle, “Yeah, totally. Okay. But hey -”

He peers down at me, finally. “Just...behave, with my mom? You sorta got her spot-on with the whole fucking...overprotective, tall tales kinda person.” He scowls, and if he head doggy ears, they'd be flattened against his skull. But he relents, nodding, “I'll try.”

That's enough for me.

* * *

He crawls into my room, in a band shirt and shorts, and I laugh at the way his hair is wild. Nico frowns at me, “What?”

“Nothing,” I rely, beckoning him over to the bed, where there's comfort. I see that in his pockets, there's an aspirin bottle and a wad of tissues. I smile at him some more, watching him collapse against my pillows and curl up into a ball. His socks are dirty at the toes, where he'd presumably skittered across the lawn. It looks like he's planning on staying a while.

My laptop's in my lap. Earlier, I chalked up a few hours ahead – if it's 10:10 AM over here, then it's 01:10 PM over there, so my mom shouldn't be busy. I pull up skype, and select her name; she's the only one I'm willing to talk to. Annabeth and Grover's names were grayed out, offline – not that I'd try to call them anyways. The same with Luke.

It only takes one _bliup_ before my mom's face comes into view, “Percy!” Her voice comes through before her mouth moves. Ah yes; Skype connection is at it's finest, it seems. I smile, “Hey mom -”

“Why didn't you call me sooner? It's Saturday! How are you? Made any new friends?” I grin, relieved that she isn't too mad. To be honest, (despite how moodily I've been thinking of her,) I've been missing her. She means well, if not a little overzealous. Her blue eyes meet mine, and she's sitting excitedly in the kitchen.

My heart years for egg-shell blue tiles and blue spaghetti on Thursdays. I want to be back in my bedroom with worn sheets and a lemon scent to them from the washing detergent. But then I glance at Nico beside me, and decide it was worth it, “Sorry, mom – I was busy getting settled this week, but I'm here now! And it's awesome! California's just...totally gnarly, dude!”

I can feel Nico glaring at me from the back of his head. As if backing up my point, he thumps his foot into my lap – dangerously close to my crotch. I grunt, “And, huh, I've made some friends – lots of them. They're amazing, too.” My mom grins, then glances at the foot – probably only just having the screen register the movement, “Who's that?”

Nico yawns, “Hi Ms Jackson.” She squints, leaning closer to the screen as if she could see him better. I grab Nico's foot, waving it, “This is Nico. He's a little...” I glance at him, most of his slight body monopolizing the bed, face sinking into my pillow to the point I worry he's suffocating. But the fall and rise of his back is reassuring, “Under the weather right now.”

She hums, tilting her head, “Aww, poor thing – can I see him? Or is he currently blanket-burrito status?” I shrug, “To be honest, I think he'd dead.” Nico kicks my thigh, “Slowly.” Sally glances at me, raising an eyebrow. I turn the screen, flopping beside Nico for my mom to see. “Oh, honey, show me that pretty face!” She giggles.

Nico hums, “Pretty's an overstatement; I don't think you'll appreciate -” He coughs into my pillow – gross - “Snot and swollen-shut eyes.” I snort, and wedge my arm under him to lift him up, “Dude, c'mon – show my mom that pretty face!” He drops bonelessly on my chest. I stare down at him, “Nico.”

“Percy.”

My mom laughs a little, “Nico, was it? C'mon, I'd love to meet my kid's new friend.” He peeks up a little, before turning back against my collar, “With all do respect, I'll decline.” This is probably the most domesticated I've heard him, and something tells me it's not just because he's sick. His hand is discreetly gripping at the hem of my shirt, and it's shaking. (He's scared of my mom, holy shit.)

She cocks her head, eyes narrowed a little as she looks him from his black shirt to his skull-motifed shorts. Then she looks back at me, raising an eyebrow. Shit. Eventually, Nico peeks up, “Hi. There. You've seen me; been blessed with my beauty, now excuse me,” He gets up from the bed and hacks up a lung, sniffling a little. “Ugh,” He mutters. I can tell he wants to swear, wants to smoke a cigarette, wants to go and do something that soothes the itch in his fingers. “Do you need a drink?” I ask.

There; I've solved two problems: Nico's uncomfortableness, and some time for my mom's suspicion.

As the door shuts, she turns to me, “Percy,” There's a stern, motherly tone to her voice: she still thinks she's talking to the boy that snapped his attention to her immediately when he did something wrong. Well, he left with me on the plane, but got taken somewhere different, because he's certainly not with me.

“Yeah?” I ask. She's immediately scrutinizing me; “You _did_ keep my warnings with you, right?” She already knows the answer. I shrug, “Yeah.” She tuts at me, “Nico's a bad kid, isn't he?” I scowl, “No! He's fine how he is, he's a good kid with his own opinions, and he's -”

Tugging at loose strands, she sighs, “Percy! Those are just things he's trying to lie to you about! He's using you! What's he made you buy for him? Cigarettes? Drugs? I bet he's invited you to the group outings, huh? Made you do bad things already!” I huff, “Not true.” Yes true. But those were my conscious decisions. And I'm brought back to a little tidbit I thought a while ago about.

( _He'd decided to smoke,_

_He'd decided to let his mind darken,_

_He'd decided to run recklessly, in need of something more than what this life was willing to offer him, and to find something to make his time worth while on this earth made of broken dreams and sleepless nights._ )

Deciding things for myself is scarier than I thought – that's what I'd come to conclude. I take that back. It's fucking wonderful. My mom glares at me, “It _is,_ ” She stresses, “He's just...they've just blinded you! You need to listen to me! I know what's good for you,” I watch her dab at her eye a little, “I should've tried harder to keep you: if I had, you'd still be safe.” Safe. I snort, rolling my eyes, “Sure, mom. 'Safe'.” She blinks at my sudden behavior, but I find myself not caring, and I decide not to.

“Safe being cramped up without any social life beside a smart girl who bullied me into doing things and a guy too high off his ass to care about more than his girlfriend.” She blinks widely at me, “Annabeth and Grover? No! They were the perfect example -”

“ _Your_ perfect example, who you think I should befriend! But, how about no? I'm happy with Nico, with Will and Jason! I have so many people I get along with here – out of your reach, beyond your judgment, and even then?”

She's silent, stock still.

“They wouldn't give a rat's ass what you thought of them! The only reason Nico was trying to behave was because I asked him to. Trust me, he's got a sailor's mouth when he's himself, and y'know what?” I glare at her, “I _love it._ I love that he smokes, that he screams and kicks – god, he's just the best thing ever.” I think I'm pouring my heart out a little too much.

Eventually, she blinks and glowers at me, “I'm calling your father.” I shrug, “Go ahead! I don't give a fuck!” I don't know where this frustration is coming from (I do, I just don't want to admit it.) With that, I flip her off and slam my laptop shut.

It takes a moment for my actions to sink in, and even then, it takes another second for the dread to seep into my heart. I'm so screwed. I'm not sorry, I just – I'm...I don't know.

Nico chooses that moment to sneak back into my room, cocking his head at my hands against my face, “...Did it end well?” Shaking my head, I groan, “I fuck bad.”

He doesn't comment on how bad that sounds, seemingly picking up on my distress. He pushes his water into my hand, patting my shoulder, “S'alright. She'll get over it. She has to – you're...just, you're too awesome.” He drabbles, head falling against my shoulder. I think he's finally passed out, quiet against me.

I smile softly, sipping the water he's placed in my hand. It's refreshing, washing the guilt from my throat. I move him around, let him curl on my chest as I sprawl on the bed. He shuffles down, nuzzling into my ribs. Like usual.

I grin, staring at my ceiling. I have a feeling that Poseidon isn't going to be happy when he gets home. I decide not to care for now, for I find that I'm content where I am, in the arms of this tyrant little brat.

I wouldn't trade him for anything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ugh, I'm so tired guys - I made the mistake of staying up to study for a test, which I think I fucked up anyways. So sorry if there are a few too many mistakes in here.
> 
> On a more positive note, I'd love to show off [this](http://i.imgur.com/GPwpbmC.png) and [this](http://i.imgur.com/9npDQ5J.png) - they're lovely pieces of fanart that [fytairi](http://archiveofourown.org/users/fytairi/pseuds/fytairi) has made. They're awesome, and you guys need to go check out their fic, too - from what I've read so far it's really good. 


	7. Dinner Dates

_"Sometimes I'm terrified of my heart;_  
_of it's constant hunger for_  
_whatever it is it wants._  
_The way it stops and starts."_

-Edgar Allan Poe

*

**CHAPTER SEVEN**

“Where're we going?” I ask, as we stroll through streets bathed in sunlight made of gold, below skies of fire and buildings crumbling at the seams. He shrugs, “Neverland,” I watch him wave to faces as we go.

Two blonds, blue eyes and smiles, a grinning girl and dazed a boy, a small girl with golden eyes, another with a braid. I don't find myself wondering, already fitting names to their forms. Jason, Will, Lou and Cecil, Hazel and Reyna.

And before me, he sprouts a pair of arching horns and a spiked tail. But his hands are still soft, smirk over his shoulder unadulterated whilst he himself remains preternatural.

There's deja vu in the air when he looks at me, offering his hand with a grin that was practically tailored for his face, and as I grab it, I'm hit with the feeling of  _rightness_.  

Here I am, _here_ being home.

* * *

He's drumming my sternum when I finally come to, nonchalant at the way his nose is pressed into the cotton of my shirt. Beside me, my phone vibrates as if suffering fits, dancing across the surface of my nightstand. “How long has that been ringing?” I groggily ask. Nico shrugs, “Ten minutes.”

I fix him with an unimpressed look, “And you didn't think to wake me?” A shrug is all the boy offers me, “You were _out_ , dude. Like I fucking hit you over the head with a rock or some shit.” I huff, ruffling his hair absentmindedly as I make a grab for my phone.

It's Poseidon. Shit. “Oh fuck -”

I answer quickly, putting it on speaker, since I'm too much of a wimp to listen to him by himself. Nico easily props himself up a little more, dark eyes – though lidded heavily with slumber that had yet to be wiped away – harboring interest within their depths.

“Percy!” Poseidon's voice scolds instantaneously, and I can feel his anger through the speaker, “H-Hey,” I croak, “What's -” He huffs – I imagine him furrowing his eyebrows - “Your mother had the audacity to call me during work about an issue concerning you,” He sounds less agitated now, more so irritated than anything. I know they don't get along very well anymore. I hum, “Oh yeah?” I'm half interested to hear how she twisted it around.

Nico shifts a little, moving so his head rested on my collarbones. “Yes; an 'abrupt change in your behavior', so she said. I don't have much to work with: she's more vague than the last time I heard from her.” I cough into my hand before continuing, “Well, not my problem. Not yours, either. I think mom's just trying to find a way for me to go back to New York.”

My dad's quiet for a moment, and all I can hear is the gulls squawking in the background, before he sighs, “Would you like that? To go back with your mother?” I freeze.

Nico shrinks away from me, curling up against the wall, as if to give me space. I can't bring myself to look at his face. At how dejected he must look, out of place and not wanting to hear the answer. “Sometimes,” I say slowly. I hear bated breaths – both from the man and the boy – before I sigh, “But...not really. I like it here – I've made friends, and Tyson's pretty cool, when I see him. Better than anybody back in New York,” I tug Nico back to me, comforted by his cool warmth against my side.

(Like chlorine water, warm, yet cold in a conflicting mannerism against your skin.)

Poseidon hums, satisfied with my answer, “I'd like to talk to you when I get home. I wont be too long now; it's Saturday, so I'll be finishing around two. Get out of bed, soon, though; the di Angelos are coming over for dinner.”

I blink at Nico, who blinks back up at me with equal confusion. I watch dread and horror flicker in the shadows of his eyes, near concealed if not for his lack of composure. “O-Oh, cool. Okay, yeah; I'll get Tyson up too?” Poseidon makes an agreeing sound, “I enjoy your company, kiddo,” I don't find it as uncomfortable as I had on Sunday, “And I wanna just make sure that you like it here, too; I saw that billboard earlier,” There's a tired chuckle, “Nico's doing you good, even if he is...well, bad.” Nico snickers quietly, wriggling his eyebrows at me as if to say, _your dad knows I'm bad._

It was amusing, to say the least. I curl my lip at him exaggeratedly, rolling my eyes to reply _yeah, yeah_. “I...I'd like to talk with you at some point, too.” I find myself muttering, “I know I've sort of been putting it off; trying to get over whatever happened last week.” The worst, yet possibly best thing that happened to me: shift of custody from mother to father.

Nico's fingers drag themselves to my arm, curling around my wrist as he felt for my pulse. I chuckle quietly, as does Poseidon, “He's there right now, isn't he? You two never seem to split.” I feel heat rise to my face, and then Nico smirks his signature smirk, “Lovely father-son bonding, with an awkward third-wheeler.”

Poseidon booms a laugh, and I feel something warm clog up my heart. It's nice – not awkward, like it probably should've been – to know that Nico gets along with at least _some_ adults, even if it is my dad. It's somebody, and that's all I can ask for.

The conversation wraps up quickly after that, and I end it whilst setting my phone on the nightstand. I roll out of bed, flopping onto the floor, “Tyson! Wake up, buddy!” There's groaning through the walls, a family thump as a small body rolls onto the floor in a fashion similar to my own. I watch Nico chuckle, gracefully slinking from my bed and out my bedroom door. I wonder what he's doing, until I hear,

“Nico! When did you get here?”

And suddenly Tyson's cheers and, “The Ghost King has arrived!” Echo through the walls, until they're right outside my door. I watch it slam open, Tyson on Nico's shoulders, grinning, “Percy! Brother, look! Nico's here!” He's adorable, though I've never really taken much time to look.

He's got a patch over one eye, but the other is apple-green and his smile is bright enough to rival Will's in how much sunshine is produced. Nico hooks him by his underarms, settling him on the floor by my head, “Tis, I, fair Sea Princes,” He said in an overly booming voice, “From lands of dead languages and withered civilizations,” I find myself just marveling at him. From this angle, skull-motifed shorts and oversized shirt, he's royal enough for me.

Tyson pats my head, “I woke up like that too, brother.” I groan a little, “How 'bout you get changed, lil' guy? We got the di Angelos coming over.” He beams at me, hopping around, “Really? Really _really?_ Oh! Hazel will be here, she's great, isn't she Nico?” Nico nods, chuckling, “The best. Now go on, I think your shark shirt's been missing you.” He hurries off, giggling.

“It's not fair that you know my little brother more than me.” He shrugs, sitting beside me, “I've lived here longer than you. I knew his mom; she got caught in a cave avalanche; was spelunking or something with a couple friends.” I wince, “Ouch.” He shrugs again, “Now, c'mon, you two. Get dressed.” I raise an eyebrow, “What about you?”

Nico stands, “I'll be back; try to to flip fucking tables without me.” With that, he's leaping from my window with agility unnatural for somebody so reckless, and he's quickly a blur of monochrome slipping through the window opposite.

* * *

I'm listening to Tyson talk about his friend Ella - “She has really, really, really pretty hair,” - when Nico dropped back through the window. With ratty jeans and a grimy shirt, a couple bracelets on his wrist and a few braids spouting from his hair. I glare at him, “We do have a door, y'know.”

He grins up at me, “This is the cool kid way into a house.” I scoff, covering Tyson's ears, “Don't listen to him; to be cool, you just gotta be like me.” I puff my chest up, but Nico throws his shoe at me. Groaning, I watch him turn to my brother, “Being cool is just being yourself.” And I think that's probably the only cheesy line he'll be willing to say and mean it sincerely.

Reaching over, I ruffle his hair, “Sure,” He blows a raspberry at me, eliciting Tyson to follow suit. I scowl at both of them, “Guys; maturity.” Nico snorts at me, before lunging at me like a cat coiled on a ledge. He lands, hands flanking my head as he grins down at me, “Tyson, quick! Run for your life, I'll hold him back!” With that, there's a squeal and he's racing out of my room.

I raise an eyebrow up at Nico, “You'll hold me back, huh?” He nods, hair itching my nose, “Totally. Definitely.” Then he proceeds to lick a slobbery trail from my nose to my forehead, before pouncing off and racing for the door.

“Ewww,” I groan, jumping up to race after him, “Come back here, you fucker!” He's miles away, skidding around the corner to the stairs. There's silence, and then a _thud_ as he lands. I follow him quickly, sliding along the handrail and nearly snagging his shirt as he whoops. “C'mere! No, get back here!” I huff, barreling after him into the kitchen. I pause at a giggle that comes from underneath the stairs. Grinning, I turn to the door, “Why, I think I found Tyson...”

The giggles quiet, and I know I've got him cornered. Chuckling as dark as I can – though nowhere near as sanguinary as Nico's can often be – I reach for the handle -

To have Nico throw his entire body at me. Though he's slender, an agile skeleton, he knocks me over onto my knees, “Back, fowl beast, from whence you came!” Nico hollers, grappling for my hands as I squirm, “Never! Release me, Death!” We're grinning, my face feeling damp from where he licked. Tyson peeks through the door, “Get him, Nico!”

I wish he hadn't said that, since Nico immediately caught me with fervor, slamming me down against the floor as he arched over me. His knees bracketing my chest, wrist held tight above my head. Struggling, I flail my legs, to find them useless other than to knee Nico in the back awkwardly. Even then, there wasn't much power behind the action, since I had to curl the bottom half of my spine to do so. “Let me go!” I shout, but, unsurprisingly, his hands hold fast.

Tyson creeps out, staring down at me from above, “How will we.,.dispose of him, Death?” He inquires, though continuing to stare down at me with dark green eyes. I huff, glowering at the pair of them, “I came here for a good time, and honestly, I'm feeling really attacked right now.”

Nico lets up, and I take that moment to throw my torso forward so he flies back flat against my legs, “Aww, fuck dude!” He mutters. Tyson snickers, coming to sit beside me. “Nico, shuddup – Tyson's right there!” He cocks his head at me – Tyson, that is - “He always says bad words. But I know they're bad, and that I shouldn't say them.” I blink at him, then down at the boy sprawled uncomfortably in my lap. I'm confused.

Tyson nods again, tugging at Nico's braids experimentally, “Yup, Hazel and Nico always tell me it's bad. I know how to be a good boy.” I hum, then pull back, “Okay. That – that's good to know.”

Then I crane my head to the ceiling, inhaling deeply, “Fuck nuggets!” Nico shuffles out of my lap, curling around my brother like a dog, “Was that necessary?” I nod, standing and reaching for both of them, “Totally goddamn necessary.” I feel good again; I don't have to censor myself in front of the little kid, and it's awesome.

They're both trapped in my arms, the three of us being half dragged, half waddling into the living room. Nico's feet fumble around between mine as he tries to gain footing, ultimately just getting dragged as I walk awkwardly around them.

I dump the pair of them on the couch, strolling into the kitchen, “Tyson, buddy, do you want cereal?” He shouts a confirmation, the television turning on. The theme song to Sesame Street starts playing, and I lose the will to live.

I fucking hate Sesame Street.

* * *

My dad stumbles in, smelling of salt and brine, though it was more so his work bag than his actual self. It had his boots in it, and his waterproof gear. He grins at us all, as we're clustered in the living-room. Nico's laying over the back of the couch like a cat, whilst Tyson and myself sat like normal people.

“Ah, you're all readied up. That's good. They'll be here around five.” With that, he trudges up the stairs – presumably to take a shower. I hum quietly, head tipped back to feel the expand and collapse of Nico's ribs with the tempo of his breathing. Tyson was quiet, immersed in the reject Elmo on screen screeching some nonsensical spiel. I had been wrong; it wasn't Sesame Street – a strange knock-off version that had a green Big Bird and a purple 'dust bin' monster. If that wasn't enough of a hint, it was an British remake. Ugh.

A hand falls onto my head, and I angle it to peer at Nico's half-exposed face. Half his hair was dangling in it, and I can just make out the outline of his mouth in the off-blue light of the television. Nobody has bothered to draw the blinds yet, despite the time, so the room was still dark.

His dark eyes are unmistakeable, though, hair or not, dim light or not. They're peering at me with this mix of apprehension and nonchalance, and I decide to stand up. Tyson tugs at my hand a little, but I pat his head and mutter, “Me and Nico are gonna go talk in the kitchen.” To which he reluctantly let go and proceeded to watch knock-off Sesame Street.

Nico slinks from the couch, out hands brushing as we enter the kitchen. He hops up onto the table and rocks on the edge in a perched position. I tilt my head at him, “You okay? You've been quiet.” Shrugging, he runs a hand through his hair, “Yeah. Am I not allowed to be quiet sometimes? I'm not an endless source of speech.” He's defensive, and I know to put my hands up in surrender, “Chill, dude. I'm just checking if you're okay?”

Nico's quiet again, not meeting my eye. I'm struck with the urge to hug him, so I do a similar action by squeezing his shoulder, “This isn't like you, dude, the fuck is up?”

Shrugging, he settles himself so that he's sitting instead of on his toes. He twitched under my hold, and he' still refuses to look at me. “It's my dad...y'know, comin' over and whatever. Fuck, I don't know, Shark Bait. I just...get like _this_.” I don't like whatever _this_ is.

It's a flimsy, paper-hearted version of the boy I know, and if I hold his regular flame against him, he'd fizzle and crackle at the heat. So, unsure, I hum, “What about him?” Nico hums, picking at his jeans. I tug at a few of the small braids sprouting from his hair, smiling at the rainbow bands holding them in place. “Well, there's the obvious fact that I'm a disappointment. Then there's -” I sigh loudly, “Dude, fuck him if that's what he tells you. You're not a disappointment.” I get a wry, cynical smirk from him, and I see old defiance in his crow eyes, “If you were here a week before, you'd have understood why.” I'm quiet. He doesn't elaborate, instead continuing,

“'Sides, he's always liked my sister more than me – Bianca, I mean. He pretty much ignores Hazel; it's why she's at a friend's so often on the weekends. She'll be home around now, actually, shit. I should probably -”

I anchor my arm firmly around him, “Off track, Ghost King. Just chill the fuck out;” He slumps against me, groaning with his face in his hands, “I'm just a bad son, s'all. He has every fucking right to hate my guts.” I furrow my eyebrows, “Not true -”

He sighs loudly, “Shut it, Percy. It's not up for debate.” Snapping my mouth shut, I nod, “Okay. So what I'm getting is that you're a little tense about the dinner?” He nods, “Usually, I just bail. Hazel entertains Tyson, Triton's an asshole who doesn't talk to anybody, and our dads get along like houses on fucking fire, so I just don't show up. Buy some McDonald's.”

I hum, nodding, “Well, we can still do that?” Nico shook his head. I find it fascinating how his fingers are tremulous as he picks at the holes in the thighs of his jeans, “I promised I'd be here for this one. My first one since...fuck, I don't even remember.”

It's that moment that my dad steps into the kitchen, merrily whistling as he strolls over to the coffee machine. His hair's damp, but neatly brushed, and he's in a casual button-up and dark jeans instead of his gaudy Hawaiian shirts and khakis. It's a nice change. “You two okay? I'm not interrupting anything, am I?”

Shaking his head, Nico wipes his nose on the back of his hand, “Nah.” With that, he's sliding from the table and shuffling to sit by the stairs. Poseidon raises an eyebrow at me, to which I mouth, “Nothing,” Before turning and trailing Nico. He's on his phone, and I watch his fingers fly with rapt precision. He's talking to somebody labeled as _ellen degeneres,_ to which I can only assume is Lou Ellen.

Sitting beside him again, shoulders brushing. “I'm being a shitty downer, huh?” Nico mutters to me. I shake my head, “Nah.” Then I lean against him, only for him to twist and lean against the wall, feet in my lap. Chuckling, I shift on the stairs so that I'm curled around his thighs, legs sprawled a little further down.

“I'm not gonna say I get it, because fuck if I do at all, but...it's not bad, or anything. You got some parental issues or whatever the fuck, and I can't really fix them, but I'm...here, I guess.” Nico peers at me, gaze undecipherable. He's quiet.

Then he nods, sighing quietly, “This has been going on since...fuck, since before Bianca left – I don't -” He chuckles, though it's humorless - “I don't think there's any _fixing_ this shit going on, but...” Shrugging, his eyes leave the cracked screen of his phone, “Thanks.”

My heart does a weird stuttering motion; it's painful, like skipping beats, and I'm caught in his dark eyes. He turns back to his phone and scowls. I raise an eyebrow, for him to reply with, “Lou wants to hang out, but I can't just say I'm having a family dinner.”

“Why not?” To this, he rolls his eyes with a huff, “I've got a rep to hold up, y'know. It may just look like we're blindly hanging out, but fuck. Lou has expectations. I give her a shitty excuse like that, she'll flip her shit and call me out on being a pussy.” I furrow my eyebrows, “You've never seemed bothered about that.” His hands shakes as he ruffled my hair, “A lot more to it than whatever the fuck you see on the outside.” There's a weight to his words, but I watch his expression harden, back into a wolfish grin, and I know my chance has fleeted

“But whatever, right? I'll just tell her some shit about Hazel, she'll get off my ass.” Shoving his phone into his pocket, there's a strange emptiness that I can't place. I watch Nico pull his legs from my lap, standing and stretching with that nonchalant air.

(He's a shell. I don't know what to do with this information, to know that he's a putting on a front. I wonder if all the others are the same, or if it's just him stressing to be what everybody wants.)

I remain on the stairs for a little longer, peering over the handrail into the living-room: he's vaulted over the couch, catching Tyson in a tickle-fight. I smile silently. A scoff comes from above me, and I crane my neck to glower at Triton at the top of the stairwell. “Who shoved a stick up your ass?” His murky eyes dig at me, in a way that makes me want to look away; I don't.

Sneering at me, he all but kicks me to the side. “There isn't a stick up my ass, there's a vermin in my way.” With that, he storms into the kitchen. I roll my eyes. Triton's such an ass; I'm glad I don't see him often – I've been out all week.

Poseidon spares a few words to my brother, before coming and leaning on the handrail, “What's got you moping up here, champ?” I shrug, “Nothing. Just...thinking.” I am, in all honesty. He tilts his head at me, “About your mom? Nico? C'mon, you can talk to me.” I smile, nodding, “I know. We sorta have one overdue, anyways.”

Grinning, he pads up the stairs to sit beside me, “What's on your mind, then?” Groaning, I hide my face in my hands, “Mom, mainly. I just – what did she tell you?” Poseidon scratches at the neat stubble along his jaw, before glancing at me, “That you had an 'abrupt change in behavior', as I said before. Not exactly the most detailed, is your mother. She said something about bad kids and how I need to keep you within my sight at all times, or even better, send you back to New York where she can 'look after you'.” He looks a little offended as he finished, as if my mother insulted his caretaker skills despite having two other sons.

I snort, “Sounds about right.” He nods, leaning back against the stairs, “What happened? If you don't mind me asking, that is.” Guiltily, I glance over at him, before looking away, “We got into an argument about Nico when he left the room to get water.” As if on cue, there's a wet cough from the living-room, and a giggle, “Froggy Nico!”

Poseidon chuckles, but is silent. Continuing, I run a hand down my face, “I may have swore at her...and said something to get under her skin. Like how my friends here are better, because they're not within her reach -”

“Are they?” Genuine curiosity is a charming expression on my father's face. I nod, a smile splitting my face, “Definitely,” I look into the living-room. Nico's suspended Tyson into the air, as they giggle about how Hazel will love to watch this new movie he got from the charity bin, “They're so much better. I love them.” _I love him_. Poseidon seems to read my mind, by his knowing look, but he's still quiet. “And, huh,” Scratching my head, I shift to look at him again, “Y'know, I was just being mean and I flipped her off, said some other nasty stuff, being a brat. The usual teenager routine.”

He ruffles my hair, and I lean into it a little, “Well, that's understandable. Your mother's a... _difficult_ woman. I wish I'd seen that sooner.” I stiffed, and he rushes to fix his statement, “I still love you, though; wouldn't trade you for anything, even if I have to deal with Sally. I find you worth it, and I'm glad I managed to finally get into contact with you, Percy.” I smile up at him, “Me too.”

Poseidon hums, “Are there things I can do to make you feel more at home? I know your room's a little bare right now...but you're out half the time, so I never really know what to do...” I shrug, “I like fish. Ocean stuff, a couple bands, too, I guess. I don't know. I haven't really thought about it – never had anything up in my room except a few pictures of me and mom.” I only took one, and it's still unpacked under my bed.

He nods to himself, then taps his foot, “I'll have to take you shopping – get you a few trinkets. And take you to some games; Triton doesn't like going anymore, but Tyson still loves going.” I raise an eyebrow, “Games?” Poseidon nods, “Baseball, basketball – or...something else, if you like?” I grin, shaking my head, “Those sound great.”

I glance over to the living-room again. Nico's perched on the couch arm, Tyson on his shoulders as they make squawking noises akin to pterodactyls. I don't want a relationship like the di Angelos. I tell Poseidon this, and he sounds resigned as he says, “Me neither. This is why I'm reaching out to you now that I have the chance.”

I turn to him, “What happened to them? All Nico says is that it's been that way since Bianca left.” Poseidon scratches his nose, “Nico's mother died in an accident a year before, and Hades had grown busy, having to take them from child services – I couldn't talk to him for a month,” I have a feeling that the two are close, “And then I suppose grief was too much for Bianca and she ran off, off the face of the earth. She was a kind girl – loving and wonderful, well mannered. All the things that Nico just...” He shrugs, and I finish, “Isn't.” To my surprise, my father shakes his head, “He was a wonderful little boy. So much happened at once, I just think it split everybody up. Hazel came along from a...” He cleared his throat, raising his eyebrows at me. I got it: she was the product of a one night stand. “And, that put more pressure on Hades, and having another girl in the household seemed to put him off – a reminder of either Bianca or his wife, I don't know – so he ignores her half the time. Nico's...a more...parallel child to what he used to be, and.” He stops.

I look at him, hoping for him to continue. I watch him stare at Nico with a conflicted, fatherly look, and I'm oddly unsurprised to find him looking at the boy like that. “He buckles under the pressure; caring for a little sister, the weight of an older sister still alive somewhere and the grief of death he hasn't mourned properly. It's hard to live through.” I nod quietly.

“It causes you to lash out.” He finished. Poseidon sighed, then put on a smile, “But he's improving with you, I know he is. It may not look like it, but...before you got here on Monday?” He chuckles, staring up at the ceiling, “You wouldn't recognize him.” I feel my face heat, feeling the compliment in his words. _You're doing a good job, kiddo; you're doing real good._

“But anyways, let's get from that topic, yeah?” I nod, chuckling, “Yeah.” Then I say, “So...why is mom so...uh, y'know. Hellbent?” Poseidon gives another chuckle, though humorless, “I don't know, kiddo. She just is; but just know she's a hypocrite.” I blink at his words, “What?”

“She was very much a little delinquent when I first met her. Had a rocky start, smoked, drank, blew all her money.” Holy shit. “And, I suppose, she learned what she was doing with her life and started to clean herself up – around the time she met me. I think she's developed an irrational fear of the character she had been, and sees it in the youth around now, and she lives in fear of her precious boy – you – becoming a _monster_ , as she titles them.” I hum quietly, “Ouch.” He nods, “So whatever she says? Take it with a grain of salt.”

I nod, “Noted. But – okay, I'm just asking questions now – what about about Triton? Why's he such a dick?” He gives a hearty laugh at my phrasing. “Triton's a so-called _dick_ because when I was with his mother, she lived in beautiful mansions owned by her rich parents and had money at her disposal. He grew up as a prince, until she moved somewhere far beyond my reach and left his snotty little ass on my doorstep. He's just angry that she didn't take him with her.” I snicker, “Wow. Talk about riches to rags.” Poseidon shrugged, “I think we do quite well; we've got a nice house in a nice little town, lovely neighbors and a lively community. In the fall and winter, anyways.” I nod, “I think so too.”

He gives me a bright smile, and I see adoration in his eyes, “I'm glad. I love having you here, and I love _you_. You're one of the best things that have happened to me, Percy – Tyson, hell, even Triton, I will admit – all three of you. And I'm not just saying that as a parent, because I know it's a very cliché line. The three of you have made my life more than fishing and running off to resorts in the peaks of my teen-hood.” I smile at him, “Awesome.”

Poseidon nods, then checks his watch, “We better start making food; it's nearly five.” I make a _huh_ sound, “Seriously?” He nods, “How about you stop those two from destroying the living-room, hm?” I nod, hopping up and jogging to barrel into Nico. His face is red, and he's panting a little from roughhousing with Tyson, “Shit, dude! You scared me.”

Tyson giggles, clinging to my leg, “Hi Percy!” I feel better, somehow – having that conversation with my dad. I'm more at home, and happy. Nico's under me, his hands on my shoulders as I flop on him, and Tyson's jumping up and down on my back – it just feels right.

“What were you and your dad talking about?” Nico asks. I shrug, smiling contently, “Just catching up on stuff.” There's a spark in his eyes - I see brown instead of black; I find myself paralyzed - “I'm glad.” Quietly, he mutters, “Try not to hate him. Ever.” I lock his advice close to my heart. Tyson worms his way in between me and Nico, grinning at us, “Nobody can hate daddy! He's the best!” Nico nods, with me grinning at him, “He definitely.” even though Tyson may not hear it, I sensed the bitterness laced to his words.

As response, I slide so that I curl around him, “How about you go help dad cook, yeah?” Tyson jumps up, “Master Chef! I'll judge his food.” He runs off. Nico raises an eyebrow at me, “Look, I get you wanted to get me alone, but the living-room is a little open, don't you think?” He's smirking at me, teasing. Shaking my head, I sigh and rest my face against his collar, “Better place than any, sweetheart.” Nico scoffs, whacking my hip, “Barbaric!”

I snicker, “Like you're any better. I bet you'd fuck somebody in the kitchen.” He leers at me, “Oh yeah, totally, because I'm not a civilized gentleman who knows what a bed is.” I raise an eyebrow, “From what I've seen, it's the opposite.” Nico glowers at me, thought it's ineffective due to his contagious smile, “I hate you.” It's said softly, and my heart trips up as it translates his statement to _I love you_. Ignoring it, I slip my hands to rest on his waist and ribs, “No you don't.” (It makes me sad saying that, as my heart's still hooked up on the idea of _I love you_ , turning our conversation into “I love you,” and “No you don't.”)

It's quiet, dark, peaceful. There's the occasional clatter from the kitchen, which I find amusing, but other than that? We're alone in the tranquility of the dark living-room. We need to open the blinds at some point; it looks like some sort of mancave. I suppose it is; no females in the house.

Nico shifts around a little, so that he's facing me. We're half-way under the coffee table, his knees are pressed against the couch as he twists to face me, and if I sit up, I'll hit my head. I love it so much. Our faces are barely a breadth apart, noses touching, eye contact scarily stable and unbreakable.

His eyes aren't brown anymore, like they had previously been. But black, they're knowing and crow-like as they'd always been, but they're soft. His eyelashes are dark and thick, as if lined with kohl, and there's a vulnerability to him despite his daring grin. It's like he's scared to be this close, to be pressed up against me and have the ability to kiss me so close and only a movement away. I wonder if he would kiss back, if I were to connect our mouths right now.

Instead, he chuckles breathlessly, “You okay there, Shark Bait? You look lost.” Shrugging, my hands tighten on his waist, “I could say the same thing, Ghost King.” We're grinning stupidly, or at least, I am. He'll never look stupid, not to me. My heart keeps trembling, and I wonder if he can hear it, and find myself moving to feel his through his back. It's rapid, stammering and wild, an unregulated staccato beat. He's anxious, perhaps near panic, and he's just... _rendered starstruck._

It's beautiful.

His mouth splits his face wider, wolfish teeth bore for me to see, “I'm always lost. It's a specialty of mine.” I sigh quietly, smiling with contentment, “True; it really is.” His smile grows, “What if we had the money, Percy,” He whispers, my attention snagged by the subtle movement of his mouth, how his eyes were burning brightly, “To just leave? Would you come with me?” I'm quiet, and he tacks on, “Hypothetically.” He's got that voracious look in his eyes again, and his heart is eerily still under my hand. I realize that whether it remains still or continues to beat us chalked up to my answer.

I shrug a little, not breaking eye contact, “I don't know, Nico.” It makes it all the more real when I say his name like that, they way he says mine, “But hypothetically? I wouldn't miss it for anything.”

His heart doesn't beat for another twenty seconds afterward.

Nico nods, as if he expected that answer, “Don't,” Is his answer to me. His voice trembles a little, and he can't look in my eyes anymore, “When I ask, when I have the money, when I have enough courage to leave – don't.” My breath is stolen by how sincere his eyes are, though they're directed somewhere else. “Why not?”

Sullen was the word that came to mind when he smiled; bitter and biting. “Because you wouldn't come anyways.” I blink at him, but he continues, as if recounting a story, “I had a dream about it, I think. Fever dream, but a dream nonethe-fucking-less. We were on a subway, minutes from taking off, getting the fuck out of...somewhere; it looked like New York, if I'm being honest. I don't know, I've never been there – just seen pictures.”

Something panged at my heart, but I tighten my grip on him as he tried to turn away. “Fuck, it was weird; you said you couldn't, and suddenly we were just walking back home. Weird as shit. But...I – I don't know.” I hum quietly, and press my face into his hair, “Sounds fucked up.” He nods, “Yeah.”

There's a ruckus from the kitchen, and the loud boom of my father's laugh. Nico sighs, “I'm sorry, I just fucked up everything.” Shaking my head, instinctively, I peck his cheek. He's still, until a minor heat rises to his face, “The fuck was that?” But he's gotten all flustered, so I can tell he's not too mad, more confused than anything. I chuckle, “It's called a kiss.”

He huffs at me indignantly, “Whatever, just...why?” I shrug, and kiss his cheek again, much to his chagrin and squirming, “Because you're cute.” Nico scowls at me, “I'm not cute. I'm fucking terrifying, I am death – I am darkness! Shadow! I will reign curses upon you!” I nod, patting his head, “Of course you will, buddy.”

Again, he huffs, and he's just a ball of fluffy anger right now. We ruined the moment once, why not again? I snort, and bound him against me, “Dude, you're fucking adorable.” Nico grumbled at me incoherently, “Fuck you.”

There's a knock at the door, and then it opened, “Poseidon?” A deep voice called. Nico went rigid. Poseidon called from the kitchen, “In here, Hades! Food's almost ready, but make yourself at home!” I watch an impossibly tall man stroll through the hall, Hazel skipping after him in an oversized, clearly not hers, hoodie. She waves at us from over the couch, before disappearing into the kitchen with Hades.

The boy in my arms carefully untangles our limbs, and slinks to the doorway. I follow him, and tug him into the kitchen. Hazel turns and grins, “There you are!” And dives at Nico like some crazed little lion. Her hair was springy enough to look like one. Nico grunts when she collides with him, but otherwise, he's smiling, “Ciao, sorellina.” She grins up at him, then at me, “Hey Percy.” Hades has yet to notice our presence, instead leaning against the counter whilst Poseidon washes pots. He has a hospitable smile on, and unlike his son, he looks far more at ease.

Tyson's drying plates, Triton sulking at the table. Nobody acknowledges him. Hazel curls around Nico's leg, wearing one of Nico's big hoodies as she rubs her face against his knee, “Missing yooooooou fratello.” Nico wobbles a little, falling against me, “Missed you too, Hazel. How was Frank's house?” Hazel hums, “Good, it was good. Missed you though.” After that, she stands on his foot and makes grabby hands at him. I chuckle, “I think you've already established that.” She blows a raspberry at me, before pouting at Nico, “But I did! I haven't seen you since Thursday, and I missed yoooooooooou.”

Nico ruffles her hair, before hoisting her to his hip. He pecks her forehead, “Love yoooooooou.” I sling my arms around his shoulders, cheek mashed against his, “Love yoooooooou.” Nico glares at me playfully, “Whatever. I hate both of you.” We pout, and Nico awkwardly shuffles to the table, “Get off, both of you.” Hazel growls, clinging harder, and I lock my arms around his shoulder, “Nope.”

I listen to them bicker, but watch our fathers interact. Poseidon is animated, hands waving soap suds everywhere as he talks, and his mouth is running a mile a second. Hades remains silent, nodding along with a minute smile. I got what Reyna meant now: listener, not a talker.

Hades' got dark eyes like Nico, but a more mellow sort of light flickered in them, like madness worn down. His leather jacket is worn, well used, and his hair's brushed haphazardly. Poseidon chuckles, “They've been camped up in Percy's bedroom all weekend, and other than that, they've been out with friends. Do be easy on him, Hades, you know that he and Persephone don't get along well.” The man's quiet, apart from a hum.

Then, Nico watches Hades intently, eager to hiss words at him. “He wont have to worry about her anymore; she and I...” He shakes his head, “She wont be making anymore visits, let's say.” Poseidon raises an eyebrow, “ Why not?” Hades scratches his cheek, “I discovered how she was treating my children, that's all.” My father smiles, patting Hades' shoulder jovially, “Well, it's a start, right?” He shrugged, “I guess. What's cooking, anyways?” A chuckle bubbles oddly, “It smells like it's burning.”

My father bats him playfully, “What was it you told me last time? 'Don't bite the hand that feeds you'?” Nico hums, Hazel groaning, “When's food ready?” Simultaneously, Nico inquires, “What even _is_ cooking?”

Hades jumps a little, turning to look at his son, and then at me strewn over him. His eyes flicker over the pair of us. Instead of answering, he says, “Nice of you to join us for once.” Nico scrunches his nose, rolling his eyes, “Nice of you to directly talk to me for once.” I flick him, “Be nice.” Nico bites my finger – not too hard, just enough to show me he's already agitated – and Hades simply hums calculatingly. His eyes shift to me, but his question is directed to Poseidon, “Is this one Percy? The new one.”

My father chuckles softly, “You say it like he's a collectable, Hades. But yes, this is Percy; came down on Sunday.” Hades nods, turns away, and helps by setting up the table. Triton scoffs when Hades settles a plate in front of him, “I usually have the octopus plate; we've been over this.” To which Hades bites back, “Would you rather I make you eat out of a dog bowl? It seems more fitting, if I'm honest.” It shuts Triton up – I'm more amused that Poseidon just snickers.

I watch Tyson sneak up to Hazel, tugging her leg so she's let loose from Nico's grip. He hugs her, “Hi Hazel!” She pats his curly hair, “Hello Tyson.” They sit up at the table, chatting between them quietly, as if to avoid the adults' attention. Triton sits at one end of the table, Hazel and Tyson on the right side, leaving the opposite side empty and the other end. Only three seats. I glance down at Nico, and he seems to notice, but not care too much.

Poseidon settles a pot of spaghetti on the table, and dished some onto Hazel and Tyson's plates. “Oh,” He mutters, starinng at the three chairs, “Hades, be a dear and get another chair?” As Nico's father starts to leave the room, Nico chokes out, “Uh, I was getting ready to bounce, just wanted to say hey to Hazel -”

I pinch his side, “Nah, it's fine, you'll just sit with me.” He glares at me, and I glare back down at him, but either way, Hades moves away from the door, “Okay.” Poseidon rolls his eyes, chuckling, as he takes the seat closest to Triton. Hades sits beside him, leaving the head of the table for me and Nico. I don't know why I said we could share a chair. I just like the idea of being able to have him close – a reflex thing, I guess.

Nico gives me a _this is why we cant have nice things_ look, and I grin at him. I wave my hand at him, _I did good, don't worry_. He slides onto my lap stiffly, but once I get my arms around him, he eases. He reaches forward and puts some spaghetti on my plate, and conversation starts.

“I tried that recipe you gave me, Hades,” He hums, nodding as he licks his lips, grabbing for the salt and pepper, “I can smell it. It looks wonderful.” I don't know if it's just me, but my father _glows_ at the compliment, “I'm glad. No try it, I want to see if it's like you remember.” Nico raises an eyebrow, “Recipe?” He nods, holding u the spaghetti twirled on his fork, “Your mother's recipe,” Nico literally chills under my hands, “Hades said that since I was a good cook, I should try it - broaden my horizon from simple dishes.”

Nonetheless, Nico nods and smiles, “Here, try it,” Then scoops a forkful and shoves it in my mouth. I choke, but chuckle around it, “'S good. I like it.” I swallow, “Needs salt.” Nico mechanically shakes it on the plate, “There you go.” I hum quietly, as the conversation between our siblings and our fathers continue without us. I watch his fingers pick at the table cloth. “You okay? I know your mom...y'know, it's sensitive.” He shrugs, smiling wickedly, “I'm great. Why wouldn't I be. Just forgot how much I hate these things.”

Triton glowers at us across the table, stewing as he bites into his forkful. Eventually, after Nico pulls a few hostile faces at him, he growls, “Why must you be so intrusive? Disrupting everything, the pair of you.” Before Poseidon can scold him, both Hades and Nico retort, “You say that like you're any less unwelcome, asshat.” He works his mouth, before snapping it shut. I grin, hiding my expression in Nico's shoulder.

Hazel giggles, “A quarter for the swear jar!” Hades huffs, “You mean you college funds, unlike somebody,” He glances over at Nico, before resuming to eat. “It really is a good attempt, Poseidon; just needs a little spice next time. I love it.”

Nico returns to destroying the cloth, as I eat more than half the plate. It's quiet. It's fascinating to watch my father look head-over-heels for Nico's father, hanging onto every scarce word that leaves him, and talking so exuberently and excitedly about everything. Just to know that Hades was listening as intently as he was speaking; it was cute. I lean in to Nico, whispering, “Is my dad crushing on yours, or what?” Nico shrugs, “Looks it. I ship it.”

I snort, “Of course you would.” He challenges me with a raised eyebrow, “What's that supposed to mean?” I smirk, “That you're weird like that.”

Snorting, he replies, “Like you're any better, Shark Bait.”

Grinning, I poke him, “Better than you,”

“Doubt it,”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah,”

“We'll ask the guys on Monday,”

“They'll pick me.”

“What makes you so certain?”

“They're obligated to, as my minions.”

I snort, “Your _minions_ , huh? Why, I thought they were you friends.” Nico shakes his head, shoving my fork at me, “That's what they get you to think. Secretly, I rule the school.” Hades scoffs, “By rule, do you mean wreck?” Nico ignores him, “I'm the king, you see, overruling any tyrant and doing good where it's needed.” I raise an eyebrow, “By tearing out a poor girl's hair extensions.” Hazel slams her hand on the table, shouting, “Drew's mean! She deserves what she gets!”

Together, as if rehearsed, Hades' children roar, “Anarchy! Freedom for the weak!” Hades flicks his fork at both of them, “Not at the table. Wait til you go back to school on Monday.” Poseidon laughs, leaning against Hades' shoulder, “No wonder they're juvenile delinquents – you don't discipline them properly.” I watch a small smile flicker up to Hades' face as he glances down at my father, “And you do? Take a look at your moody brat right next to you.” Triton sneers at Hades, only to back down when the man sends him an icy look.

Hazel makes a confused face, along with Tyson. He's the one to break the silence, “What's a delinquent?” Nico puffs up his chest, “A cool kid; like me.” Hazel boos him quietly, “Delinquents are bad kiddies. Not cool. At _all_.” She blows a raspberry at Nico when he gasps in mock offense.

I settle my chin on Nico's shoulder, our plate only holding a little amount of spaghetti on it, to which Nico easily gulps down. I can tell he didn't even taste it, just chewing and swallowing numbly. Poseidon gives him a hopeful look, to which Nico easily smiles, “Really good. You should make this again some time.” He grins back, “If the both of you like it so much, then I will.” I throw my dad a thumbs up.

Tyson yawns, falling against Hazel, who ruffles his hair. Then she unzips Nico's hoodie – revealing another watermelon shirt, only the colors were reversed – and glomps the pair of them in it, “We're in the batcave, Robin,” She announces. Tyson groans, “Why am I Robin? I wanna be Batman!” Hazel shakes her head, “You can't.” He pouts, “Why?” She grins slyly, glancing to Nico, “Because,” He clears his throat in front of me, “I'm Batman.”

I snort, shaking my head, “Jesus, you're all gonna kill me. I've only been here a week.” Poseidon nods, “And you'll be staying until your mother tears you from my cold, fishy hands.” He's very serious when he mutters this, and Hades pats his shoulder reasurringly, “Now, now, there'll be no need for that, 'Seidon. I don't want Sally in my morgue any time soon.”

I decide I love everybody at this table.

Aside from Triton.

Triton can come back to me when he's dislodged that spear from his ass.

 _Fuck you, Triton_.

Nico reclines against me. I angle my head to look at him, “Whaddup, buttercup?” He scrunches his nose at me, “Gross.” I shrug, “You're gross.” He glares at me, “How?” I point to his sleeve, where there's dried snot and phlegm, “Snotty nose.” He shrugs, “I feel better now.” I nod, “I can tell; you're getting weirdly whimsical at random times again.” He snorts, “Oh, is that the meter of how well I am? Just measure how many times I go off the deep end in the hour – the more the better.” I nod, “Totally.”

“We should all go our some time,” Poseidon was saying, “Maybe to a movie, or the park,” He proposed, “I'm sure Hazel would enjoy a change in scenery.” Hades nods, glancing up at the golden eyed girl. She peeked up from the Batcave, “I like parks. And swings. And the forest. Can we go to the park, daddy?” He chuckles, “Maybe. We're just discussing it right now, bellissimo.” She nods and licks whatever was on her fork, before returning to the Batcave. “Maybe we could take them to the aquarium?” Poseidon asked, his eyes sparkling.

Hades chuckled, “During one of the holidays, maybe.” He grinned, “I know I'd like that. A good time for the children to connect, don't you think?” The man nods, sipping from his glass of water, “Sounds like a...splash.” My father erupts into giggles, “Did you just make a pun? I've never known you in all my years to do such a thing.” Hades shrugs, “Working with the dead often leads to droughts in humor.”

Poseidon squeezes his hand, “Not to me. I think you're rather...lively company.” He earns a chuckle, “Not entirely sure that's a death-related pun, but I suppose...I'll let it slide.” Nico whispers to me, “I'd like them to get together, genuinely.” I hum, nodding, “We need to make it happen.”

I feel his heart against my chest, and I'm content to simply sit there for a while.

* * *

Dinner wrapped up quickly after that, me and Nico now sitting on the porch. Poseidon and Hades talked at the end of the drive, sun to their backs as Hazel chased Tyson around the lawn. The adults talked in hushed tones, though smiling, and Hades even grins when Poseidon hugs him goodbye for the evening. Hazel grabs Hades' hand as they cross the street, waving to us before they disappear into the large shadow caused by their house.

Poseidon gives a long sigh as he passes us, he stops to beckon Tyson in, before leaving me and Nico to our peace.

The sun's warm, and the city's red skies are scarlet in sunset's reach. Nico sighs, nearly on his back as he sprawls on the steps. My hand rests on his shoulder, and I crane my neck to the sky. He pulls out his cigarettes, lighting one up and taking a hit, “Want one?” I nod, taking the one he just lit as he gets himself another one. I inhale deeply, hold it until it burns my throat, and let it out. “Long day, huh?” He nods, sighing heavily, “Don't I know it.”

I shuffle until I lay beside him, “What's even out there for you, Nico?” I ask. I still don't understand what could be more beyond this dead-end town. There's not uch more than dead cities and languages that twist so much that the natives no longer understand the newer generations. Society around, forever twisting and contorting into painful expectations.

Nico hums, taking a hit, “I don't know, Percy. Bianca,” He guesses, “More than _this.”_ He throws his arms up, before waving smoke from his eyes. I sigh, “But there isn't,” I tell him, sorely sincere, and I can see him trying not to break down at the revelation. He whispers, “You think I don't know that? I just want something other than this, these people, this life. I want _more_ , and that's greedy, fuck yeah it's fucking demanding of me, but – but -”

He throws his cigarette across until it bounces into the road, still burning brightly. He stands up, swinging his arms around, “I don't know. I just want out.” I stand with him, grabbing his wrist, “There isn't an out.” He nods, hand in his hair, “I know. I'm just...just a kid who's still naïvely wishing on stars, s'all.” I shake my head, “You're a kid trying to believe in a world full of the hopeless. You know the truth, you believe it, you see it – but you're optimistic, s'all.”

He grins at me, wryly, “Y'think?” I nod.

Nico shuffles to rest his back against my front, and we stare beyond the terracotta roofed houses to the sun, “Well, I guess you're my pessimist, huh? Or the realist.” I nod, “I guess. I gotta stop you from dreaming too far – keep you grounded when you're head's in the clouds.” He chuckles, “Sounds right.”

Squeezing him, I bend to kiss his cheek, “Definitely.” He turns pink, and it's so pretty.

 


	8. I'll Suffocate If It Ends With Kissing You

 

_"When I kiss you,  
_ _I want to taste your soul."_

\- Terri Guillemets

*

**CHAPTER EIGHT**

As we continue through the streets, I take note of odd landmarks that seem to call to me, to the pair of us, like some beacon of solace. A bedazzled billboard, a tree-house at the beach, a groyne of rocks breaching the ocean.

We progress, my hand in his, and he's warm, and I love it, and I don't really know how to translate that into words he'll hear or even understand, so I remain quiet and let him pull me.

I make the mistake of glancing to a window. My mother's face is reflected back at me; she's pounding on the glass, pleading me to come back. She's broiling rage whenever she glances at my crow-eyed savior.

He turns back to me, smiling sweetly, and my mother's image is replaced by my father in the window. He's smiling, a man alike to my friend beside him. I'm inexplicably happy for them.

“C'mon,” He whispers to me, “You'll love it here.” I have no doubt in his words.

* * *

“This is a good way to end the week, I think,” Nico mutters to me. He's helping me balance a piece of sheet metal at the top of the billboard, so I can drill a couple screws in it for temporary stability. I have my dad's tool-kit up with us, and then some – whatever Nico had scrounged from his house, and I have a feeling the jack hammer was stolen from somewhere with no ideal purpose.

He's having fun though, so I let him be.

Nico hums, “Don't you think it'd be better if we drill through the metal into the top of the billboard? Then get some more frame or something.” I nod, “Yeah, that's what we're gonna do – we're just making sure it'll stay while we set that up.” He nods, and returns to grabbing screws for me whilst holding up the scrap.

We've got two layers of sheet metal – the weird, curved type; sorta wiggly and whatever. I suppose it's not important – slotted together to make it bigger, and so far, we've got it covering pretty much the entirety of the billboard and platform. The junkyard offers some pretty useful scrap.

Nico starts humming after I finish, trailing me as I hold up the other end of the 'roof', to rest on top of a pole (the corner frame of the platform.) “We're gonna just drill a few screws through the top here,” I point, “So that they'll rest in the holes of the pipe, got it? So it'll balance in there.” Nico nods, and offers me a screw and holding the roof steady. I hop up a little, on my toes on the framing where the lights wrapped around. “Ready?” He nods.

I quickly drill in two screws, and briefly wonder if it'd been better to drill directly into the pipe diagonally before deciding this is equally as good. We repeat the process with the other pipe, and I smile at him. He's a little tired – even though he looked better yesterday, he's still dealing with the tail-end of a cold – though considering it's only nine in the morning on a Sunday, I guess it's reasonable. I ruffle his hair and let him lean against me momentarily.

“The faster we get this done,the quicker we can rest, yeah?” He nods, pushing away from me to grab the duct-tape. I smile, letting him reinforced the pipes and roof by taping the ledge of the metal to the pipe, and the same to the other one. “We should get sharpie,” Nico mutters, “Draw some stuff on all this boring metal. Maybe spray paint.” I chuckle, “That'll look good, huh? Maybe some point next week; it'll still be sunny, and the paint will dry quickly.” He nods, then yawns.

I feel sort of bad for dragging him along this early, but I want to treat him to McDonald's at lunch – when he'll have an appetite and be too worn out to do nothing but eat. He didn't eat much at dinner last night, due to emotional issues relating to the dish served, and I don't remember getting him to eat anything afterward. And considering he was still asleep when I knocked on his window, I know he hasn't eaten breakfast.

McDonald's is a very nutritional, healthy breakfast, you see.

I chuckle to myself. Nico squints at me, “The fuck're you laughin' at?” The clouds – there's a chance of sprinkling today; another reason to get this done and test if it's sturdy enough – clear away to the sunshine, and Nico turns to stare at it dead in the eye. He's very reminiscent of yesterday morning in that way, when we slept here Friday night.

 _Kill me_ , he glares at the sun, _or stop fucking blinding me._

“Nothing,” I finally answer him, grabbing a spare roll of duct-tape and starting to tape it along the top of the billboard, where I'll soon be drilling into, “Just having fun.” He grumbles quietly, rubbing his eye, “We drillin' yet?” I nod, “Pass?” I feel the drill in my hand, along with a couple screws. And then he's climbing up beside me, carefully creeping to the other end. It's like walking on tightrope, his arms out for balance until he saddles the other end and grabs the sheet metal more securely, “Go ham, dude.”

I nod, setting a screw hazardously over the metal. My plan is that since the metal's over the rim of the billboard, it'll anchor the metal _to_ the billboard, so that it wont need anything more than that. Nico yawns, and if he had doggy ears, they'd be pressed against his skull. Okay Percy, that was a weird thought, but I'll chalk it up to sleep deprivation.

Finishing quickly, I wipe a few tears from my eyes from the wind. Nico snickers, “Are you crying?” I shake my head, “Wind.” He goes, “ _Uh huh._ ” before slinking down to curl up under our new shelter. I smile, sliding down with him, and resting the drill back in the kit, “How you holding up?” He slumps against me, fiddling with his cigarette box. I snort, “Aren't you out yet?” He shakes his head, “Rationing.” I nod, “Understandable.”

I feel pretty accomplished, even if he isn't.

Stroking his hair, I look out to the lazy sun over the blur of fairy-lights, and then to the faint blue that illuminates behind us, from Nico's very intricate wording of _FUCK_ on the wall. He's right, I decide, we do need to add some color and decorations up here. We could get a few strings of cans, maybe, paint them weirdly and laugh about it later. Or stick up a few posters, and make our own. (I like the idea that this is a solace space; only for us.)

Nico yawns quietly, “I wanna dream catcher right...” He points to the center of the ceiling, “There.” I nod, “I'm down.” He flops against me, “Yeah. Let's go down; put the tools away,” He interrupts himself with another yawn, “Go someplace.”

“McDonald's?” I propose.

He nods, “McDonald's.”

* * *

Sipping my cola, I watch him set up his Happy Meal neatly. He got chicken nuggets this time, and he settles them in the top right corner of his wrapper. His little ketchup dip in the center, fries top left and unopened toy to bottom right with his drink on the bottom left. His box is centered before his wrapper on the table, and there's a kiddie's coloring sheet with carefully placed crayons from where he'd been coloring now lay.

I'm amused, to say the least. He's adorable; hair messy, his ACDC shirt hanging heavily to bare his collarbones and few freckles that speckled his shoulders. I do admit; he's wearing a peculiar outfit today.

An ACDC shirt that was far too big, and dark blue shorts that reached his knees. A very non-Nico outfit, and I'm starting to wonder if he blindly grabbed whatever was in his closet. I wouldn't be surprised. Though, his jacket is a change, too; a gray, woolen thing that had holes in the sleeve where he stuck his thumbs, and a few buttons missing. When I asked, he had simply said he was going comfort over casual. Understandable, in retrospect.

He looked comfortable, that's for sure. A tiny, sleepy little fluff ball with braids still sticking out of his hair. I tug them occasionally, only to hear the soft chirruping sound that comes from the back of his throat – I get the sense it's somewhat pleasurable, an easing feeling that calms him.

I love it, I love it, _dear god_ , do I adore it.

My bad boy Nico isn't so tough after all, it seems. I'm loving having to dig around at his weaker moments and pry him open with gentle fingers. Like unfolding paper – pull too harshly and you'll tear it. And even then, it's fun. Because Nico doesn't react how you'd expect: shy away, clam up. He'll snap his teeth at you, growl and squirm, but he still lets you continue picking apart his puzzle pieces and rearranging them for a different outcome each time.

I sternly reprimanded him for fooling around with a screwdriver earlier, how he had nearly gouged it into himself because he wasn't being serious with it. He'd honestly looked guilty, apologetic for being so inattentive to the danger he was causing to himself. It boosted something in me – a prideful emotion: he was _listening_ to me. Actually taking in my words, and reflecting on them, and it's a foreign thing for him to do so. He's never done that, except - from what I've seen – with me. Nobody else; not Will, not Jason, not Reyna – all wary and worrying figures to Nico – but _me_. I tell him off and worry about him, and he replies with something very valuable to me. His attention, his understanding.

I don't understand, and that's just all the more fun. I'm learning along with him. His boundaries, his sore spots and what he blatantly refuses to speak about, no matter how much I push and prod. What'll make him gnash at me, what'll make him purr; it's wonderful. I know I describe this like something sensual, something lusty and sexual, but it's not. It's a confusing thing to explain, just like Nico. He's an enigma.

Blinking, I look back down at him. He's destroyed his neatly set out meal. His toy has carelessly been torn open, plastic scattered everywhere; the ketchup's been knocked over, its contents sluggishly smearing over the wrapper. Half his fries are eaten, and his chicken nuggets have been torn in half messily, waiting for consumption. Odd, strange – contrary.

I watch how his eyes are surveying his mess, how he's unsmiling, how serious he seems to be. I ask, “Why'd you go and do that?” He shrugs, “I can do it if I want. Does there have to be a reason?” The reason is quite simple, quite easy to read by the way he's methodically wiping grease from his fingers onto the napkin: he's in control of it. It's something he can determine, something he can control the outcome of. Closure, in the oddest form I've seen it.

I smile, taking a bite from my burger, “If you say so, buddy.” Nico nods, and grabs his chicken nuggets and chomps them all in three bites and washed down with a sip of his cola. Nico is a very odd character. I love him anyways.

* * *

“Who were your old friends, anyways? Back in New York, I mean.” Nico asks. We're back in my room, warmth and the comfort of my bed offering us both relief. I shrug, sighing heavily, “I didn't have many friends. Just a boy, and a girl...” Trailing off, he looks up at me from where he was tracing the faded outline of his skull and bones on my arm. His soft jacket his warm against wherever it connects with me, our legs tangled under the comforter.

“She was my girlfriend.” I say bluntly, “Then she cheated on me with another boy, and I sort of...” Shrugging, I curl onto my side a little, “I dunno. We got into a big fight about it before I left. I wish I could say sorry to her, y'know? Fuck, probably not.” Nico hums, moving to tug me back to look at him, “Not really, no. Never been in a relationship serious enough that it affects me like you.” There's a softness to his voice, vulnerable, and I want to drink it up like honey.

His hands wander to mine, squeezing them, “Bu I can tell you now, get the fuck over her. She cheated on you?” He double checks. I nod. His face hardens, “She's not worth your time. Whoever this bitch is, she's a dumb cunt to give you up for some twenty dollar man whore she picks up behind your back, okay?” I chuckle, and move to kiss his cheek again, “Okay there, girlfriend,” He snorts at me, batting his eyelashes, “Don't you know it.”

I like how adaptable he is, no longer confused or questioning about my open affection, even if he hasn't realized why yet. “So what about you other friend?” He inquires. Shrugging, I pat his head, “A lot like Cecil, actually,” I chuckle, “Except, he wasn't so painfully unlovable.” Nico snickers at me. “Had a lot of pot, and a girlfriend called Juniper; she was nice, I guess. He wasn't there for me a lot, if I'm honest – too high and too with the flow to really understand anything.”

He's quiet, blinking up at me. I smile down at him, “But I'm here now, so s'all good.” Then I sigh deeply, sinking into my pillows – I've been here a lot this weekend, I decide. I don't find myself minding too much, not when Nico's soft despite his hard angles, and his fingers leave trails of ice along my arm.

“Yeah. And you're not going anywhere anytime soon...right?” I glance at him, before rolling to flop on top of him, “No way, dude. I'm glued to your side until you get sick of me. Even then, I wont leave.” He chuckles, lamely pushing against my weight, “Off, fat ass. I like breathing.” Chuckling, I slide to his side, “But you're comfortable.” He snorts at me, “A bag of bones? Comfortable? You have some strange fucking tastes.” Shrugging again, I nose against his neck, “You love me, though.”

He hums, thinking deeply, “Nah. I'd like to throw you in a ditch and let your rot.” I blink at the odd blankness to his voice, but when I look up, he's mischievously smirking. I pout, hitting his hip, “Mean.” He shrugs, “The meanest.”

Nico twists in my grip, until he slips from my bed and disappears under it. I sigh, looking over the edge; he makes an _oooh~_ noise, and I frown when he reappears with a photo album he swiped from my box. I groan, “Give it back, asshole.”

Agilely, he jumps up and sprints out of the room, cackling evilly. I groan again, jogging after him, “I thought Lazy Sundays were a thing, goddammit!” He snickers, slamming the bathroom door shut. I rest my forehead against it, “I hate you.” There's a hum, “That's my line.” I smile, despite myself; there really isn't too much in there he'll find interesting, don't even bother with blackmail. Half the photos were me in the bathtub, and the other half were me winning cheap medals at swimming competitions in middleschool.

“Nico, just give it back, seriously.” He purrs through the door, “I'll give you five minutes to find a way in.” A challenge; one he clearly knows I'll win. Sighing, I chuckle, “Okay; start counting, asshat.” A low chuckle comes from him, and he sighs, “Already am.”

With that, I leave the bathroom and return to my bedroom. Easily – I've slowly become accustomed to this act – I climb out the window, before I jog around to the bathroom window: it's open. I have a feeling Nico already knew that. I place my feet in the rickets of the brickwork and pull myself up. He's sitting at the door, cross-legged with the photo album hugged against him. I grin at him through the window, “I fucking hate you.”

He smirks at me, as I drop to the bathroom tiles, “Love you too, don't worry.” I laugh breathlessly, coming to sit with him, “What's so interesting about that, anyways?” He shrugs, fingers brushing along the spine of the album, “I don't know. Had one of these -” He looks mildly guilty, “Burnt it.” I sight, ruffling his hair, “Do you burn everything?”

Nodding, he pulls out his lighter and flicks it on and off, “Burn everything that pisses me off. Not a good habit; but it makes me feel better.” I raise an eyebrow, quietly asking him to elaborate. He does, “Fire cleanses, or whatever, I guess. And there's...fuck, I dunno, there's a _permanency_ that comes with it – you burn it, and it's gone for good. You can't get that shit back, y'know, so there's a...” He waves his hand vaguely, and I watch the flame flicker again, “It's the guilt that comes with it, I think. It makes sense, to feel guilty for it and not have to figure why the fuck you're feeling shitty in the first place.”

I get the feeling that Nico's a person who operates with the idea of anger being his simplest emotion. The easiest one to understand, to fall victim to. He looks pensive as I look at him, lighter's fire flickering in his eyes – it does nothing to warm them, looking like a cold, desolate flame in the vacuum of his eyes. It's an odd thing.

So when he blinks and it's all suddenly gone, I'm only slightly surprised. “But that's whatever. Doesn't matter.” He taps a beat onto the photo album, humming. Then he stops, shoving it at me, “Here, anyways. You got it fair and square.” I smile, tucking it under my arm as we leave the bathroom.

The things I know about Nico could fill a book; a very small book, and even then, only a page.

* * *

“I've gotta go charge my phone,” He tells me an hour alter. It's beeping at him, angry red battery on his screen. Nodding, I watch him leap from the window, racing over to skid to a stop in the middle of the road. He bends over, picks something up, and strolls to his window. In that moment, he turns and cocks his head at me. Cupping his hands over his mouth, he shouts, “C'mover! Nobody's home!”

Chuckling, I quickly follow him, letting him pull me up to his window. Already, I can tell it's far different from my room.

The walls are plastered with posters – dark colors and half of them being band related. I only see a few actual pictures, and they both look far out of date and purposely stowed away. His bed's crammed in the corner, unmade and a laptop resting on his pillow; a closet and set of drawers near the door – almost as if he was barricading everything out. His closet was gaping; clothes and other items fallen from rackets to just pile at the bottom of it, shoes and boots tangled among the mess. His set of drawers were hazardously left open, too; and I fave a feeling he uses it more as a junk holder than an actual place for clothes.

There's random stickers all over the place; suns and rainbows, that lead me to believe Hazel is a frequenter of his room. He has drawings all over the place, too, detailed and intricate products that are stuck all over his bed. To which I finally notice looks like a bunk-bed, with the top one removed. The masts are reaching for the ceiling, and if there wasn't a dark blanket strewn over it, I have a feeling there'd be rough splintering from where something broke off. Like an extra bed. There's a needless ladder propped against the door, after all. I decide not to comment. It was probably Bianca's bed.

“Neat place.” I say. Nico hums, tugging an extension cable from beneath his bed, “Kinda messy; sorry. I'm not in here often enough to care about cleaning up.” Understandable. I sit on his bed, whilst he fiddles with his charger and phone. I look at it: the applicator’s frayed, and I watch him rest his phone at a crooked angle for it to be of any use.

“Is all your shit busted?” I inquire. He nods, scratching his head, “Pretty much.” His rooms smells like lemons and strawberries, oddly enough. I notice that there's a dartboard resting against the side of his closet, with somebody's face stuck to it with a dark between their eyes. “Who's that?” I point to it.

Nico hums, dragging it for me to see, “Persephone.” I wince; there were many holes in her photo, “Yikes.” Shrugging, he kicks it around a little, before grabbing two of the darts and aiming them hazardously at his wall, “Uh huh.” I glance at his wrist, where the bruises were faded now. I decide his treatment for her photo is adequate, if not under exaggerated.

“Hey,” He tells me, absently digging around in his drawers, “There's a sound system under my bed; dig it up and hook it up to my phone?” I nod, and do so – the system's clunky and a little outdated, but it has character. It has a My Chemical Romance sticker on the side, and I can't help but chuckle. I plug his phone to it, and but his music on shuffle.

I regret immediately.

Forgetting to have checked the volume, the speakers burst and crackle to life in my lap, popping my ears as a heavy metal song comes on. He snickers at me, before coming over and twisting a dial. The sound lessens considerably, and he places it on his nightstand. Then he grabs his phone and puts on a different song, before turning the volume back up, “I don't know what you like, but if there's anything you want, feel free to mess.” He nods at his phone, before ducking out of the room. He's slender enough, I notice, to fit through the sliver of space his door opens up to. I have a feeling not many are allowed in his room. I feel honored.

I peer at the small, framed photo he has. Two girls and a boy. The boy was him, I assume – _holy shit_. He was so different.

His eyes were still as dark and crow-like as I've ever seen them, and his mouth curled into that vulpine grin I've always known – but he was just... _different_. Smaller, more well-dressed, seemingly better mannered, maybe. He wore a nice button-up with dress pants. His skin bore more freckles, and he looked like something from a fairytale. A wolf in sheep's clothing. Bianca – of whom I can only assume was the girl beside him – was the same. A dark braid that hung over her shoulder, green cap ruling her curls. She had mocha eyes, and a red-liped smile that hinted at more than innocence. A skirt and a nice button-up shirt, too; clandestine, the pair of them. They mother seemed oblivious. The palest eyes of the pair of them, and curly hair; a genuine smile, and her body clad in sangria skirts and a beret.

I don't know who I'm staring at.

Nico...he's not in that picture, not to me. It – it's like...he was still intact somehow – before it all just...went away. He's a wolf and crow, still, yet...dressed in deer skin, I think. He was able to hide it, able to conceal this audacious person he is just as long as Bianca was around to do the same. I can see it; she holds the same dark fire in her eyes, they're both just mad and wild bound in polite and lovely.

When she left, his wolfish jaws must've torn at the deer skin, his crow's talons tearing it to shreds. That's my only explanation, and even then, it's rickety. I don't know who I'm looking at, I don't know who this grounded little boy is. He's lacking the energy I see in Nico, he's got a spark in his eyes that isn't in Nico, not in his black eyes. All I see in Nico's eyes is schizoid paranoia and unresolved masochism.

I set the picture back on the nightstand, listening to the song Nico had left on. It's a loud song, no doubt about that, and it sang _dare me to jump off of this Jersey Bridge?_ At the start. I wonder if that was a metaphor for something, before quickly giving up and staring at the picture again.

Nico chose that moment to come back into the room, nodding his head to the song, “How you doing, dude? Sorry, I had to make sure the door was open when Hazel gets home.” I nod quietly, falling back against his bed. His comforter smells of him, and I'm tempted to steal it. He sits beside me, “You okay? You're quiet.” I nod, “Just...just looking at that.” I point to his picture.

He scowls at it, “Oh. Yeah; sorry 'bout that. What's wrong with it?” I shake my head, looking at him a little oddly.

I know this Nico better. He's pale and bruised, rambunctious and questionable intentions. I know him. He smokes, he breaks rules, he creates bonds stronger than anything I've ever seen, whilst simultaneously being this force to be reckoned with. I don't know the boy in the picture.

“It's not you,” I mutter, and he raises an eyebrow coldly, “Not me? The fuck does that mean?” I sit up, arm around his shoulder, “I don't know him.” He glowers at me, “No shit, Shark Bait. That was, like, several fucking years ago.” I shake my head, “No, like – fuck, it's...like a different dimension. I can't imagine you looking like that as a kid.”

Nico stares at me eerily, in the sense that he was quickly dissecting me and slotting me together it a way that computed in his head, a way that made him able to look at me in his stranger outlook and translate the words I've jumbled out. He's a lot like Annabeth in that sense, yet more...meaningful instead of robotic.

“That's because that wasn't me as a kid.” He mutters cryptically. I raise an eyebrow. Sighing, he runs a hand through his hair, “I was a fucking brat, when I was smaller. You've heard the stories; tugging girls hair out, beating up anybody who was _looking_ at me. I just dressed up and pretended to be golden whenever my mom was around.”

I nod quietly, chuckling, “Sounds like you.” Sighing heavily, he glares at the picture. I watch him fiddle with his lighter, “It does, doesn't it?” Again, I cock my head at him. He's not looking at me, and I feel like he's entranced by the photo, “It's not Bianca, either,” He whispers, mouth twitching into a sneer.

He picks it up, taking the picture from behind the glass. I'm dreading his next actions.

He glowers intently at his sister, “No, Bianca was selfish, and took away my toys and tore up my drawings. She burned all the papers I wrote, the ones where I actually got a good grade on, and presented hers instead.” He whispers. I lean in a little to hear him, “She slashed by bike tires and laughed -” He chuckled humorlessly,

“She didn't laugh when I trashed her roller blades.” I blink owlishly, “What did you do?” He smirks, “I set cherry bombs off in them.” It sounds like they had an intense rivalry that went far further than the regular sibling dispute. Maybe a fight for mother's love, or simple recognition. I imagine his mother to be one of the long-workers, never having enough time for her kids since she had to work to support all three of them.

She didn't realize what monsters her children where. They loved her enough to hide it, to look like angels and be the children she loved and wanted so much. I get it, I think. Well, not really – I was an only child until this week. But I can understand the competition between them; single parent, very scarcely home – it's a way to break up a family, no less siblings.

Nico brings his lighter out, and I'm frozen as he drags the flame under the corner of the photo. My breath leaves my lungs, my hands planted firmly in my lap: I can't do anything. His eyes shine oddly, the flame barely reflected at all as he watched the picture burn. He smiles at me, though it's detached.

When he speaks, he's hollow, “Bianca's a bitch, anyways.”

* * *

I grin, hands clamped on his sides as he bobs up and down every time he kicks. The wind's in my hair, the sky's pink and purple. I stand behind him on his skateboard, and he's grinning, hands over mine, and he keeps glancing at me over his shoulder with bright eyes.

“You'll have to teach me, one day,” I say over the breeze, “How to skate, I mean.” I nods, and I silently revel in the way his hips swivel against mine, “Lean,” He mutters, as he turn a corner. We're not going as fast as we could be, as fast as I've seen him, but that's understandable; I'm new to this experience.

I'm wondering what kept me from it for so long.

I start kicking the ground with him, in time, boosting us along the cracked sidewalk. We're heading for the beach, I remember idly, and I decide that being high on Nico's laugh is better than caring.

A few people give us this chuckles, the elderly people who recognize summer sparks when they see it, the younger kids that aspire to be fearless like us and know a bad kid idol when they see one.

Feeling fearless, courageous, I tighten my hold on Nico's hips and _lift_. Nico chokes on a gasp, feet instinctively flailing a little. “Relax,” I shout, “Live a little!” He grins at me, spreading his arms out. We can do that now, we can fuck around – the sidewalks turning to sand and the ocean's in view. Less people around to run over.

“That's my line!” He roars joyfully. I nod, and jump when the wheels of the skateboard hit the sand. We go flying, hitting the sand with a _thud_. The wind's knocked out of me, but he's wheezing cackles and the sun's in his hair, and his eyes are still so vehemently black, and his grin is something more than the wolf I'm accustomed to, and he's like an album cover for a rock band, he's that in the moment, and he's just -

Just breathtaking.

It's probably what keeps my breath from returning any sooner.

He falls back into the sand, legs over mine, and he fiddles with the gray jacket he has yet to get rid of. We're gonna have sand in places for weeks, in our hair and under our nails, but I can't bring myself to care. He pants quietly as I regain my breath; I still haven't thought of a reason for why his eyes reflect the moon and not the sun.

“That was fucking awesome.” He murmurs, “You've got some balls.” I chuckle, punching him lightly, “You helped.” He shrugs, popping himself up on his arm to pull out a cigarette and light it. He takes a hit, then offers it to me. I take it, inhale some of it, and pass it back.

“How do you think your mom would react,” He asks, “If she found you like this?” He gestures to me. My dark jeans and tank top – a style I have become favorable of since Nico introduced it to me – and the cigarette stench on my tongue. I chuckle, shrugging, “She'd disown me. Not that she can anymore. Fuck, dude.” I chuckle again.

Smirking, he takes a hit, passes it to me. I repeat the process. Back and forth, back and forth. The ocean's lapping lazily at the shores, still far away from us – we've barely breached the beach. “Harsh,” Nico offers me. I shrug, reaching to ruffle his hair, “Meh. Not as harsh as your -” I stop.

He's not listening to me; attention to the shore. I turn to follow his direction. There's a mass of something caught in the seaweed, unmoving. I share a look with him, “The fuck is it?” He shrugs, scratching his head, “Washed up junk, probably...” He's still intently staring at it, curious.

Standing, I tug him up, and we start walking to it. He grabs his skateboard on the way. As we near, it doesn't clear up at all, and I hum questioningly. Nico cocks his head as we get within a foot of it, poking it with the end of his board. It shifts. I yelp a little, grabbing his hand reflexively. He chuckles, crouching down and poking it again. It shifts to the side.

He smirks at me, “It's a fucking crab, dumbass.” I huff, “How the hell do you know?” He tugs at the seaweed, revealing a red shell. I scowl at him, “I had every right to be shocked.” He snorts at me, carefully prying the seaweed away, “Shocked is an understatement.” I crouch beside him, nuzzling against his cheek, “Be nice.” He shrugs, then squeezes my knee, “Does not compute,” He says in a robotic voice, “'Be nice' not found in files. Does not compute.” I snicker a little, before tugging at his braids. He hums a little, eyes slipping closed.

The crab scuttles into the swash of the water.

Nico grabs my hand, laces our fingers – my heart jumps, stomach filling with butterflies – and starts pulling me to the line of rocks we jumped from on Friday. I smile at the memories.

We balance along them, until Nico stands at the very end, hands on his hips. The sun's a red line on the waterline, the sky's on fire, and he looks so pretty. I slip my hands though the gaps between his arms and body, linking my hands across his stomach. Resting my chin on his head, I smile, “It's pretty, huh?” He nods, hands moving to rest over mine. “It gets sickening, though,” He tells me, “After seeing it for eight years of my life.”

I shrug, “I don't know – I don't think I'll ever get sick of this.” He sighs through his nose, angling his head, “Two kinds of people.” I move to rest my jaw on his shoulder, and though our bodies aren't pressed together anymore, I can smell the cigarettes on him better, the addicting aroma nearly as bad as the nicotine.

We move to sit down, my legs bracketing his whilst he leans against me. Pulling out his phone, he puts some music on. The waves brush the bottom of my shoes, so I take them off and rest them on the bigger rocks behind us. Nico does the same, phone safely resting in his shoe where the water wont reach, even if the tide pulls up.

There's silence, just us, and the world's most common source of survival at our toes. I see that further along the beach, there are a few people with picnic blankets and baskets – mainly elderly people, living their last years as sweetly as they can.

The couple closest to us continues to glance at us, as if watching for our next move. They're a pair of ladies, both still in their prime from what I could tell. Nico hums quietly, and I quickly tune in to the song.

 _I never want to leave this sunset town_.

It didn't sound right, so I stopped listening. Nico turned it off after a while. Then he stood, turning to face me so his heals hovered over the water. He held his hands out to me, smiling, “Want to go for a swim?” I chuckle, letting him pull me up. I hook my hands under his thighs, pulling him up so he wraps his legs around my waist, “Why yes,” I smile, “I would love to.”

The two woman smile at us, and my world turns upside down as I dive into the water with Nico clinging to me.

It's shockingly cold, but I love the push against us. Again, Nico stays for as long as he can, grinning at me, tight-lipped. This time, I swim to him and drag him deeper, and his eyes widen with intrigue.

Sun cuts through the sloshing waves, and the air's still in my lungs; I'm a swimmer, after all, I'll be able to stay under here for a while. I know Nico will, too.

He runs hands through my hair, watching it waft wildly under the water. The sun dapples his skin through the water, and sets his hair on fire, almost. He kicks occasionally, then turns pink, like he's forgotten he's not on his skateboard.

I grab his wrists, so he faces me. I grin at him, and move to press our foreheads together. A few bubbles leave his mouth, and I start to notice his grip on me's a little tight. I'll see how long he can hold out. That's what he wants, after all, wants to stay under until his lungs burn and scream, and maybe stay a little longer. Until he gets that kick, that rush – that's what he's after. I love it.

I throw us around a little, just spinning around. I can see the beach near us, and if we were that desperate, the rocks were right there, so we're safe. I wonder if the women were worried about us, having stayed under for as long as we have. A few minutes longer than normal, that's for sure.

Nico glances around, to the nothingness only a few beats away from us. I feel his pulse loudly under my fingers, and I turn him away from the void. His eyes are wide, and I wonder if he's scared at all of what's beyond the small shelf of land. I can tell he isn't that much of a swimmer, since he keeps flailing a little when he forgets to kick. Even then, it's weak, and I know he hasn't stayed under this long before.

His face is tinging red. I direct us closer to the rocks, ready to grab them, but not quite yet. I reel him closer, so he's in my arms, against me – _nothing to fear_. I think he gets the message, since he winks at me childishly. I watch another bout of bubbles escape. He grips at me a little more, his chest heaving a little despite not breathing in anything. I cock my head, pointing up to the surface.

Frantically, wildly, he shakes his head. He's getting that rush, that feeling that makes him feel so _alive,_ I can tell by the way his pupils have dilated. I sigh inwardly; we'll need to go up soon. He's not trained to stay under water for this long. He's already running on empty, it must be painful, his lungs choking – begging him to breathe in something.

Nico gives me begging eyes when I shoot him a stern look. I don't know how to say no; he's having so much fun, he's loving it even though we're not doing much. His face is getting red, turning purple. The last few bubbles float to the surface. He'll be suffocating now, steadily gaining black dots in his vision, ready to black out from lack of oxygen.

I'm conflicted.

His heart is racing against me, his pulse panicking under my hand. He grins at me, batting his eyelashes and I can practically hear him purr _please Percy?_

I need to learn to say no to him one of these days.

He starts drumming his fingers over my wrist, closing his eyes and blinking dazedly. Gritting my teeth, I start pulling us up, but he frowns, begging me with his eyes. I shake my head, and point upwards. He shakes his head wildly again, mouth carefully clamped shut.

Kicking us up, I get a hand on the rocks and lock my arm around him, bringing him to the surface. I'm worrying this isn't adrenaline rush, and more so something more dangerous. He gasps brokenly as we breach the water, water flying everywhere. I cough a little, gulping steady lung-fulls whilst he splutters.

Then he whirls at me, glaring. I glare back. “Wh -” He chokes, face blooming red, “What the f-fuck?!” I shake my head, panting. My arm's still around him, so he can't move away. I hoist us up to the rocks, keeping him rooted in my arms even as he kicks me, “Asshole!” I shake my head, grabbing his face to get him to look at me, “What the _fuck_ was _that_ , Nico?” I hiss. He shakes his head at me, huffing, teeth grit, “It's called _having fun_ , asshole. Way t-to ruin it.”

Unbelieving, I shake my head back at him, “That wasn't fun, Nico, that was something fucking dangerous – I – I don't even know...”I run a hand through my hair, wiping water from my eyes, “You scared the living shit outta me, Nico!”

He curls up a little, shivering in my lap. I notice the women are gone, but I pay no mind. My hand's still on his cheek, and I use it to press him against me. I have nothing warm to offer him, his cotton jacket sopping wet.

I hold him close, shaking my head over and over. I give him a disbelieving look, scared for my life – for his, jesus fucking christ, for _his_ life – he wont look at me.

We're silent. The sun doesn't feel warm anymore. He's shivering, and I don't think either of us want to move right now without resolving this.

Angling my head, I move him to look at me, “Nico,” I whisper. He blinks up at me, miserable and wet, water dripping from his nose. “Talk to me,” I plead, “Please.” He stutters a sigh, “What...what do you want me to say?” I shrug, and hug him tightly, “Anything, just anything. What happened? Just then? We'll sort that out another time.”

He nods, looking so much smaller than I know him as. I run a hand through his hair, pulling it from his face. “I'm sorry,” He whispers to my, forehead against my jaw to avoid looking at me. I hear him clearly, even though he sounds croaky and like his throat was tight. I want to tell if he's crying or not, but he's already dripping, so I wouldn't be able to.

Pulling away, I grasp his face and look at him. His eyes lock with mine, still bloodshot from his high, and he's oddly innocent in the way his lip's pouted a little. Kissable.

I duck down, and kiss him.

He's frozen for a moment, unmoving, not even shivering. But, as I move my mouth a little, coaxing him from his trance, his hand moves to fist my shirt. He twists around to grapple more at my shoulders, kissing my eagerly as his eyes slip closed. I smile against him, panting, “Nico -”

“Percy,” He breathes. I'm knocked breathless again. He pulls away, me chasing after him again, to greedily steal a few more kisses before he finally opens his eyes. Nico's panting above me, hands still tight on my tank-top. I lick my lips, tasting cigarettes and salt. (Just like I imagined; smoking cigarettes to taste him was not done in vain.)

“I – we...” He sighs, knocking our foreheads together, “What?” I hug him, face in the crook of his neck, “Be my fucking boyfriend,” I say clumsily. He lets out a guffaw, falling into tired giggles, “What if I say no?”

I snap my eyes open to look up at him, confidently, feeling certainty in my voice, “You won't.” No, not with the way he's looking at me, not with that smile on his face and delicate way he's fiddling with my hair. He won't say no. But I can see he needs a boost for _yes_.

So my hands run down his spine, coming to rest on his waist. I peck his nose, “C'mon,” I grin at him, “I'm lovable,” He chuckles again, all unease gone from his eyes, “I hate you,” He mutters begrudgingly. I grin, feeling his warm breath on my face, “I love you too.” This time, he kisses me; hard, bruising, I can taste blood – one of us has split their lip.

“Yes.”

* * *

He's curled up against me, in a dry change of clothes and a towel still half-tangled with his hair. He's wearing a pair of my sweatpants that are far too big for him and one of his pajama shirts, and half conscious on my bed.

I settle beside him, towelling his hair before chucking it to the floor. I pull the comforter up, Nico moving into my arms with whatever energy he has left, and pecks my cheek. Then he delves under the comforter, and I feel him press his face against my ribs. I chuckle, “What's up with you?” I lift up the comforter, finding him blushing a little as he nuzzle my ribs, “I like your heartbeat.” I fall quiet, “Oh yeah?” He's pretty like that.

He nods, and slings an arm around my waist, “Night Percy.” I nod, “G'night Nico.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ugggh Percy's a big doof with a crush.


	9. Off-Kilter Universe

_"Today my forest is dark._  
_The trees are sad,_  
_and all the butterflies have broken wings."_

-Unknown

*

**CHAPTER NINE**

We trail through to a dreary looking place, with rock jutting from the ground, engraved with names of people I never had the pleasure of meeting. I say this to him.

Glancing at me, he smirks, “You'd find no pleasure in conversing with these stuck up, small townie assholes, Percy.” I chuckle at him, “Oh, like you'd know, Nico.” He just smirks wider.

There's an overgrown trail through the cemetery, and while I don't know why we're here, I pointedly ignore the shining, marble gravestone that's labeled _Bianca di Angelo_.

He sits on a bench, me beside him. We stare out for a while, aimlessly. The sky's flaming, like it always is here, an eternal sunset. Or twilight – I'll never be too sure.

“Why are we here?” I ask. “It's the closest thing to freedom you'll find here.” I feel a chill.

* * *

Monday.

Nope.

I turn back over in my bed, finding a slender body already clinging to me. I smile quietly. He looks up at me, even if I haven't opened my eyes yet, “Monday.”

“Nope,” I yawn, delving under with Nico and tugging the comforter over our heads. A chuckle breaths over my face, “Why not? Wouldn't you like to deal with morons all week?” I shake my head, “Fuck no.” Nico snickers, but when he kisses me, it has me blinking awake just to be conscious enough to appreciate the sensation better.

Pulling away, he smirks, “C'mon, Shark Bait. You're meant to be the morning person here.” With that, he slithers from my bed and disappears out the window. Chuckling, I lick my lips; cigarette and coppery salt. So he was the one who busted his lip yesterday.

Carefully, I sit up; I have a sudden craving for cigarettes.

I quickly get dressed; a shark-patterned tank-top and a pair of dark jeans. Deciding today warranted a jacket, I swipe my hoodie from the closet, along with my shoes and bag. Heading downstairs, I barrel into Triton. He scowls, whirling to glower at me, “Watch it, pipsqueak.” I stop, raising an eyebrow at him, “I'm only two inches shorter than you. Shut the fuck up, asshole.” I flip him off as I jog into the kitchen. Dad's there – _dad,_ this is how far I've come, I love it – packing Tyson's lunch I sneak up behind him, grabbing around in the cupboard for a granola bar.

Poseidon chuckles, slapping my hand, “If you want lunch, there's five dollars on the table, kiddo.” I huff, smiling, “I just want breakfast.” He cocks his head at me, “You sure? I don't want you getting hungry -”

I wave him off, ruffling Tyson's hair as he passes by. I take the granola bar, nodding, “Yeah – I'll smooch off the guys if it comes down to it.” He chuckles, patting my shoulder as I pass, “Have a good day, Percy.” I wink at him, jogging out the door, “Will do.”

Hazel and Nico are just leaving the house as I cross the road, and Hazel steals Nico's skateboard to shoot off to the corner. He grins at me, pressing up on his toes to kiss me. Something comes to the forefront of my mind, forcing me to stop him. I regret it, due to the wounded face he gives me. I give him a reasurring smile, which doesn't seem to work as well as I'd hoped. “Chill,” I breathe.

He's quiet, as we stroll along the sidewalk. I reach for his hand, glancing around, “Just...here, sorry, I just remembered something.” Nico gives me a doubtful look, but settles when I peck him lightly. Then he pulls out a cigarette and lights it, “What was so important that it denies me my morning treat, asshat?” I snicker, squeezing his shoulder, “Just...us, y'know? I want us to keep a low profile.” He blinks at me, “Why?” I watch his dark eyes flicker on my face, how he's not understanding anything, yet too stubborn to listen to the rest of what I have to say. (Scared of anything I have to say.)

“Because,” I mutter, kissing his nose, “We just got together last night, right?” He nods, hand coming to grip at my jacket, almost childishly, “You're the one who started it,” He mutters, and I chuckle. Truly childish today. Nodding, I pull him closer, and lower my volume as we near Hazel, “I know, and I don't plan on backing out any time soon, okay?” He's settled more this time.

“I just...want some peace, before we're attacked by the gang.” Nico gives me an amused look, “They're not homophobic, y'know. Lou's bi and Cecil's asexual.” I nod, sighing, “I know, trust me, it's not that.” He cocks his head, “Then...what is it? Are you ashamed of being with me or something?” My eyes widen, and I whip my head to look at him, “Fuck no, Nico! Hell fucking no, never that,” I grab the back of his head and smash our mouths together just to prove it. He grunts with surprise, and I taste a sharp tang of copper – I probably just tore his split lip. Not that I care, since he's giggling a little against me, “Okay, I get it,” He mutters.

Pulling back, I'm satiated for now, “I just want a calm period, before we get bombarded, okay?” Nico nods, and flicks his cigarette – it went out during out little debacle. He relit it, and offered me the first hit. I took a drag, exhaled, and passed it back. Cigarettes were a good substitute for his kisses. (I can't spend my time with out mouths glued together, no matter how much I'd like it.)

He takes a hit, and hums, “But yeah, I mean. We can keep low profile for a while.” I grin at him, bending to give him a final peck on the cheek, “Love you.” He turns pink, “I mean. Everybody loves me.” I snort, “Way to ruin the mood, Romeo.” I whack the back of his head.

He hisses at me, gasping, “Domestic violence!” I roll my eyes.

* * *

“di Angelo! Where the fuck have you been this weekend?!” Lou shrieks, barreling towards us. She's a blur of gray and green, and she knocked Nico right from my grip to pummel him. She shakes him back and forth, sitting on his stomach, “You fucking blew me off! Thrice! Asshole!” Nico snickers, before suddenly propelling himself forward and grabbing her hair, “I was busy, okay? Jesus fucking christ, Lou, it's _three days_ and suddenly you're on me like zombie to the fucking brains!”

She huffs, pouting at him. I chuckle, “Gee, missed you too, Lou.” She blinks up at me, sliding from Nico to punch my arm, “You too! I know you were hogging him all weekend, you fucking blockhead.” She folds her arms, “What gives?”

Scratching my head, I just smirk at her, “Well, wouldn't you like to know?” Lou scowls, rolling her eyes. She turns to Nico, hand out expectantly, “Gimme.” Nico drops two cigarettes into her hand, “I had to help Hazel with homework on Saturday, and I told you that I was -” She lit up one of the cigarettes, “You told me jack shit on Sunday: didn't answer my call.” He nods, humming, then clicked his fingers, “My phone died. Shark Bait was there. He's my witness.” I do remember his phone going on charge. And then we got into a fiasco of burning photographs. (I still remember his hollow voice, blank smile, _Bianca's a bitch anyways._ )

We start in a general direction toward the parking lot, where Will and Jason lingered by the window, Cecil sprawled under the shade of trees further from the concrete. The blonds waved at me, grinning brightly. The sun made their hair shine, amplified the blue of their eyes, as if expressing the immense joy they felt in seeing me and Nico's somewhat worn faces. Nico brushed me a little, smiling secretly over his shoulder.

I hung back a little, just so I could watch his hips sway with the tempo of his gait.

“Shark Bait! Where've you been, dude?” Cecil called, voice croaky. In his hand rested a joint – no doubt about it, even ten feet away, I could see the drugged contents through the waxy paper, the way the end was twisted just so. I smile anyway, nodding to him, “Been building,” I tell him. His hazy, dazed gaze scrutinized me, before he snorted and fell back against the tree, “S'cool, man.” He took a hit, and stopped talking.

Nico shifts a little, glancing around. He's still walking with his confident air, that bravado that I have only recently realized is a facade, and he rolls his shoulders, as if rolling off the strange suspicion that seemed to have gripped him. I don't know why he's suddenly cautious – he's never cautious. But...there's an air. The sun's cold, though bright, and the trees don't let light dapple through. I can see it.

_I can see it all._

The acts. The way Jason's smile is slightly strained, the electric joy smothering whatever undecipherable emotion there. How Will's hands are restless, a thing I've always noticed at the back of my mind, a fidget. He's chewed his nails to the quick, his gaze is anything but stable and steady and there's a constant anxiety that creeps through the crevices of his mask. Cecil's wasting away, smoking more and more, until he just can't think, can't hold a coherent conversation – I don't know. Lou...she seemed genuinely angry that Nico hadn't called her, hadn't dropped everything to spend time with her. An overzealous type of brash movement that came when she punches his shoulder now, a crooked edge to the way she was grinning at him. Lou kept a hand on him at all times; an arm around his shoulder, a hand on his sleeve. I don't know how I've missed it all. I've spent a week with them.

Nico knows it. Has been eerily aware of it since the start, like he always knows something before everyone else. His crow eyes survey everything, fuck, even me, as I come to lean against the wall beside him. Jason reaches to ruffle his hair, and I barely miss the proprietorial flash in Lou's gaze. She's in front of Nico, almost angled to block me.

Will simmered when Nico says, “What's up, Lou? Some shitty horror movie give you the fucking jitters?” She snaps out of her staring contest with the blond in the window, whipping her head to him in a twitch-like movement, yet smoothly replying, “No, just know that you're planning on ditching this fucking city, leaving everybody behind to the dust.”

Nico is silent.

So sinistrously anachronistic, I watch him stare Lou down until she swallowed thickly and released his elbow, “Shut it, Ellen.” She snapped her mouth shut, looking out of place, yet, as if she'd been put back in it. I blink at Nico's cold voice. The sun's blotted by clouds, and the bleak light does nothing to hide how suddenly menacing he looks. He clears his throat, looking unapologetic, and takes a hit, “I'm sorry I was busy this weekend, okay?”

He's tight voiced, and he looks agitated, “But that doesn't mean you can give me shit. My life doesn't revolve around you,” He glares at Lou, standing straighter, “Get the fuck over it; your life doesn't revolve around me, either.” She casts her gaze to the ground. Nico huffs, and stalks over to Cecil, ripping the joint from his grip, “Dude – what the fuck?”

Nico tosses it somewhere, drops his skateboard to the concrete, casts a look at me.

Jason sighs heavily, “Where are you going, Nico?” He's a dark figure in the cast of trees' shadows, and he shrugs. I feel a tug in my gut; but I don't know what it's telling me. Will's been quiet, and I see now that he's wide-eyed and so terribly vulnerable looking without the sun to make him seem so high and mighty. I'm stuck between staying, trying to figure out what just went down, and following Nico to simmer him down before he does something stupid.

“Anywhere but this shit tip.” Nico finally decides, tearing his gaze away from me and starting to kick off. I realize, subdued as I always seem to be, out of the loop, that my next actions would've determined whether his response were to be something different. Fuck.

I want to go after him, so I do. I wave goodbye, and jog over to Nico before he passes back through the entrance to the parking lot, “Hey, wait up,” I chuckle. He doesn't look at me, but he skids to a stop. It's a silent invitation to get on the back. So I do, as I do a lot of things with him, and carefully rest my hands on his waist. Then we're skating back out of the school, “Where to?” I ask over the breeze. The sun still hasn't come out yet, and I feel chills.

Nico runs a hand through his hair, reluctantly starting to lean back against me as we both kick with enough force to keep us flowing steadily. “Just...away. Fuck Monday, seriously. I just -” He sighs, shaking hi s head, “Wasn't expecting her to react that badly.” To what, I don't know. Nico doesn't specify.

Then he snorts, craning his neck to look at me, instinctively leaning to swerve around the pole. I barely manage to do so in time, nearly getting smacked in the face. “What?” I ask. He shakes his head, and stands up straighter, “I know you saw it. You're not as stupid as you think.” His words settle weight on my shoulders.

I don't find it coincidence that a crow cries above us.

I raise an eyebrow, feeling free to nuzzle him in our solitude, “Oh yeah?” Nico nods, and he seems more at ease with my hands wandering up to rub circles into his hips. “You know the air was wrong,” The wind is knocked out of me, “You saw it. _Saw it.”_ He outright _shudders_ under my hands, looking mildly distraught with the fact.

We slow, both of us stock still on the board as we stray into the empty roads. Everybody's at work; there's little chance somebody will run us over. Even then, it's a sleepy town anyways.

“Yeah,” I whisper, “I saw it.” Nico finally jams his foot on the ground, grinding us to an abrupt stop. He's shaken, and it's a foreign thing to see on his normally cool or cunning face. “It's...” he shrugs, taking out a cigarette, despite the fact he hadn't finished smoking his last, “It's a bad day, today.” He looks up to the skies; still smeared sunset-red, coloring the heavy clouds that threaten rainfall, despite not being due for another few months.

He stares down at his unlit cigarette, comparing it to his lit one – ash collecting around the cherry, only a few more tokes from being a stub. He turns the new cigarette over and over, as if it was something to be deciphered, to dissect. Then he lets it fall from his fingers.

“The world's just...had enough, today.” The sky holds hopelessness like a vitality, a necessity. A gloomy reminder that the trees would soon loose the new, springing green, and shrivel up like drought and death, ready for decease in the winter months. (A symbolism of me, I find. I'm new, green, still learning. These few weeks have caused me to brown, knowledge – though strained – causing me to crumple.)

Nico chuckled, and took a hit from his cigarette, “I don't know how to fix them, Percy.” He steps off his skateboard, and I pick it up. He settles down on his back in the center of the road. I sit beside him, falling into a staring contest with the crow on the power-line.

“I know,” He chokes, chuckling, “ _Who ever said they needed fixing?_ Me. I do. They're frayed and torn at the seams, they're breaking like china dolls and I – I -” He hisses, angrily scuffing the tarmac with his heel, “I'm useless.” I find his hand, and squeeze it, “You're not useless, Nico.” He shrugs, “It doesn't matter.” I hum, stealing the last hit from his cigarette, “No, I suppose it doesn't.”

His nimble fingers thread with my, interlocking tightly. “I don't think I _can_ fix them, Percy.”

There's a broken quality to his normally dark, sinuous voice. Genuinely displeased by this fact, despising the idea of he can't help. I feel cold inside. He doesn't know how to lift them up, even though they're already sitting on his shoulders, along with everything else. It's him that's slowly sinking through the ground, not them. They're sinking because he is.

Though Will is the glue, Jason the caution, Nico is what unites them. Nico is what herded them together, or so I gather, and he is what they all have in common the most. He was wrong when he said that Lou's world doesn't revolve around him. Her being depends on him, just as the rest do. He just wont take that responsibility – too young to, to much of a caged lion to notice.

“Not everything can be fixed,” Is my placating sympathy, “Sometimes, you just gotta wake up and smell the chloroform.” He chuckles, “The fuck does that mean?” I shrug, “Whatever you want it to mean.” He falls back onto the concrete, and looks me dead in the eyes,

“I'll wake up, and smoke it all away.” He takes a final breath from his cigarette.

* * *

I don't know what we're doing. We're on the fucking roof.

His roof, since nobody's home to complain across the street. My father's working, Tyson's in school and nobody gives a fuck about Triton if he sees us. Nico's got his back bowed over the peak of the roof, and I'd worry about the damage if I wasn't so enthralled in the sliver of skin that was bared to me from his riding up shirt.

Our backpacks rest somewhere near us, and though he looks so comfortable, I can't bring myself to lay like he does. Nico rummages in his pocket, and settles his phone in my lap, “Do me kindness and put something on.” I chuckle, squeezing his hand as it rests on my knee, “Sure thing.” There're lots of songs on his phone – over three thousand, though then again, these music apps allow over three million tracks, so I shouldn't be as intimidated by the number as I am.

I press _shuffle play_ , and let the music stream. It's another soft song, and I can't get over the fact that somebody as hardcore as Nico would listen to things so _mellow_ , and I feel like it's a story about him I'll never have the luck of hearing. I ask him anyway, question posed as, “What's with your music, anyways?” He doesn't take offense.

Shrugging, Nico shifts his hips a little, legs seemingly lame on the stained tiles. “Bianca liked this sort of stuff – alternative chill, or whatever the fuck.” I don't know what to call it. The music's got static behind it, the voice so close to the mic you can barely make out the words, but it's somehow simultaneously clear as daylight.

_You said you hate yourself,_

_so let me feed you strawberries_

_off a plate I bought from a widow_

_who was selling her husband's things,_

_and we'll see if you still hate yourself._

I don't know what to make of the lyrics, but there's a definite beat behind it all, and find myself nodding along to it. It's sweet, even if the quality is low and the words are convoluted. Nico taps his fingers to it, speaking over the music, “Bianca liked days like this; when everything was off-hillter and she could manipulate it to her bidding. People flocked to her like vultures to remains, clingy, grabbing – always fucking grabbing, having to touch her somehow -” Nico flexed out his hand, shivering a little. I hum quietly. I get that talking about Bianca and the past is hard – an unforgiving, stubborn piece of work, he is.

“But...when days like this rolled around, she played doldrums and drank up their attention, a model in the limelight. I hated it. I remember calling her an attention whore at one point, and she broke my nose.” I wince. Nico snickers at my reaction, flinging himself forward so he could smash our mouths together clumsily. I chuckle into the kiss, his breath heavy through his nose. He pulls back, muttering, “I spread a rumor about her,” A grin pulls his face, in a way I love a little too much, despite the way it was a little too dark and a little too blood-curdling, “Said she sucked off the teachers for A's, that she would do anything to get good grades.” He laughed, pitchy, not quite there, as if he was still a little boy who had troubles with voice cracks – presumably the age he had been when he spread the rumor.

“You and your sister got some bad fucking blood, dude.” He shrugs, “Comes with being in this shitty family, I guess.” I hum, “Maybe. I mean -” I shrug, and let him slump against me, “Who knows? Maybe it's just your sister.” He snorts, “Doubt it. I started it.” I raise an eyebrow, “When?” He smirks at me, “When I was born.”

I frown, heart squeezed painfully in his subconscious grip, “Nico...” He shrugs jerkily, hair tossed as he moves to pull out a cigarette, “Yeah, well. It's what-fucking-ever, if I'm honest. Should've just fucked off from the start, but y'know. Gotta have the last word and whatever.” Cocking my head, I find the words tumbling from my mouth, “What happened? When she ran away.”

He's quiet. He doesn't look at me. Doesn't speak a single syllable. He's frozen, cigarette inches from his mouth.

It goes out.

Clearing his throat, he rests his elbows on his knees, though his legs were still sprawled, causing him to bend in half to do so. “I mean. Nothing. Not really, just...nothing.” He mutters, flicking ash from his cigarette before relighting it. He just watches it burn. I prompt him lightly, but otherwise, nothing happens for a solid thirteen seconds after. I have a feeling he counted them, before continuing.

“I was sad.” He says.

“Really, sad, y'know?” His voice is void of emotion.

“But what's worse is how _fucking angry_ I was,” He corrects himself, “Am.”

He holds no expression on his face, eyes carefully opaque, glassy, in the way that Cecil is when he smokes pot. Nico runs a hand through his hair, a shaky exhale making his lungs creak. Then he tugs up his wristbands to present the long since faded marks on his wrist. I furrow my eyebrows. There were scars; crescent shaped, biting – nails. “Those are from Persephone.” He grins crookedly at me, shaking his head, “These ones, here.” He points to a near identical set, closer to his pulse. He turns his hand over, and points to a mark just over the joint of his thumb. “She gave me this before she left. Probably hurt more than anything she's ever given me. Fuck – I broke my ribs before and that hurt like a motherfucker.”

I wince, then make a confused sound, “But -”

Looking to his eyes, they're haunted. Reliving moments of presumably that night, his fingers deftly feeling the scars over and over again, like he'd memorized them. I wouldn't be surprised if he had.

“She said, _”_ He chokes a little, staring at nothing, “'You've dragged me down for years, you little shit. Ten _years_. Now I'm picking up my life and _going places_ ' -” He rolled his shoulders, glaring brazenly at the cityscape around us, “She said, 'There's a _life_ for me out there, fratello, something beyond this hopeless shit hole, and I'm not having it _ruined_ by you'.” That's not everything, no, I can tell by how he bites his tongue.

I'm silent.

He doesn't seem to care, continuing anyways. “She slammed me against the wall and did this,” He raises his wrist, “Said that there's a whole word that could give her something _more_ , something _worth living for_. And she abandoned me to hog it all.” Nico remains monotonous, eyes watery, but his voice steady.

I'm starting to piece things together now, though only a loose idea. Nico scratches his nose, furrowing his eyebrows, “I think she was lying after all,” I raise an eyebrow. “You said so yourself,” Nico glances at me, before breaking away to take a drag from his cigarette, “There's nothing actually out there, just more sad people who pretend to be angry instead.”

I feel cold, empty, and I know a kiss wasn't going to fix it. Pulling him to me, we sit in silence for what felt like an eon, possibly a few. He's still as stone, sullen, shivering. I peck his cheek, sighing deeply, “Bianca's a bitch anyways, right?” He nods.

“But she was fucking smart. _So_ fucking smart, A-star sorta gal, y'know? Miss Queen of the fucking school, got everybody 'round her finger, bending them so far 'til their backs _snapped_.” He punctuates his words by snapping a stray stick in the gutter. I flinch a little, but squeeze his hand, “Well...she's gone now, right?” I don't know how to comfort him.

He frowns, then nods and slaps on a grin, “Yeah – Y...yeah. She's gone.” Melancholic, he mutters, “I hope she's okay.” I don't get it; probably never will. Bianca has caused all these issues for Nico when they were younger – together – and yet, he still loves her with his fierce heart and wishes her back. I don't understand. I tell him this.

Nico leans against me, pecking my cheek, “You don't have to. It – it's better if you didn't.” Cryptic, as always. I raise an eyebrow, “But I want to, Nico, I want to. You're something valuable to me -” He gives me a dubious look - “And I want to be able to connect with you.”

He sighs heavily, and relucantly tries to explain, “Me and Bianca...we went through a lot. Tons of fucking bullying at the start – she was into books, I was into card games; _nerds_.” He smirks at my smile, “Laugh it up, jackass. You know you wanna.” I let out a modest chuckle, but nothing else. For his dignity. “An', well, fuck. Books? Games? Bad. Bad, gross, fucking dumb and undesirable. So we...changed.” His tone shifts into something hesitant, as if he wasn't exactly sure what happened.

“Our mom – she loved us, but...she wanted kids that just weren't us. Little angels, good at everything – wanted an athletic son and an artistic daughter, because that was the craze back in Italy. As you can see,” He chuckles dryly, “She got the short end of the stick. A husband who fucked off to America, a dead-end job at a diner.” Nico stares at the sky, “And god forbid her children be gay.” I bite my lip, hugging him tighter.

He's unfazed, continuing as if nothing was wrong, “But Bia – we made changes. First, it was violent. We'd fight back, y'know, like you're goddamn s'posed to.” The boy pauses, looking vacuous, “Turns out – _violence isn't the answer_ , apparently.” He scoffs, “Buncha fucking dickwads.” I chuckle, ruffling his hair, “Oh yeah? What'd you do then?”

Grinning, he looks me dead in the eye, “I told you, we changed. After fighting didn't work, we just...stopped being us. For a while, we were just _shells_ , I think. We got quiet, we watched people a lot, read up on all the psycho-babble and all that jargon. Got pretty well into it, I think.” That makes sense; teaching himself to pick up on atmospheres, how to drag on conversations and how to be intimidating depending on the person. Like he'd been with Lou. He knew how to stand his ground, like with Thalia.

He knows how to change himself for a person's liking.

That's a scary fact.

“And...I learned a lot.” He murmurs. I raise an eyebrow, “Oh yeah?” He nods, “People are scarier than the disorders they develop.” Chills run down my spine, but something warm bursts to life in the hold of my ribs. Nico palms at his eye, laughing breathlessly, “But what's scarier, is how easily you can contort yourself into whatever freakshow they want.” I furrow my eyebrows, “You know you don't -” He looks at me, clarity sparkling like the gleam of a crow finding death within the vacinity, “But with you? With you – fuck, fucking fuck!” He grips my shirt, grinning with so much joy and a painfully ecstatic laugh bubbling from him. He's beautiful, he's just...I love him. I really do.

“I don't have to be anything. You've changed – but it's natural, it – it. You're just... _you_.” He tilts his head, kneeling before me with his hands clawing into my shoulders. He's starting to slip on the roof tiles, so I circle his waist with my arms and pull him too me, smiling, “I'm just me? What about you, Nico?” He settles on my lap, smile falling, “I'm water. I fill out the space given to me, but I don't hold it for long.” I try to get him back on track, carefully, though I think he saw it anyways.

It's horrible of me, I know – but I don't know how to treat him when he's near tears. So I let him settle on my lap, continuing to pour his sad little rebel heart onto my chest. “Bianca started impersonating the girls, and, well, I don't think it's that hard to figure out which direction I went in.” The bad kids. “She climbed ladders like she was flying, the fucking bitch – tripped up the smaller kids, batted eyelashes at teachers. Whore.” I squeeze him tight.

He grins a little, “My rumor wasn't exactly a lie,” He mutters, “She said she'd be willing if it gave her the grades our mom wanted. That's the force behind it, Percy,” Nico looks up at me, “Our mom. It's really the only thing we had in common. It tore at us,” He whispers, looking dazed, “Turned into competition, into rivalry -” He shakes his head, “I dunno. It wasn't healthy.” I stroke his hair, rocking back and forth a little.

“You know I don't need comforting, right?” I shrug, nuzzling his hair, “Whatever. Just go with it.” _I don't know how to help you_. Nico hums, then scratched his nose, “Bianca ran away after mom...after she – she.” He sighs, rolls his eyes, giving me a meaningful look. I nod quietly, leaning down to kiss him wholly. When I pull back, he's smiling a little dumbly, more so than I can say for myself, and he turns pink. Adorable.

“But, y'know. We got transferred into this asshole's care, and she ran off about a month later. Met Thalia, went on a weekend away, never came back, the bitch.” He's bitter, back to being acidic and acidulous about the ordeal. He shifts to sit with his legs beside me, shoulder against my abdomen as he lights a cigarette. He sticks it in my mouth - “It's better to smoke when you've just had too much shit dumped on you.”

And he's back to being blatant and vehemently hating everything.

I take it with lacking grace, taking a hit and breathing out, then taking another and another. The tension drains from me by the end of it, and I rest my jaw on his shoulder, “Thanks.” He nods, patting my hair, “Love you.” I grin up at him, at his pink face, at his ash-laced mouth. I lean over to peck his cheek, “I love your ass too.” Raising an eyebrow, he appears offended. I correct myself cheekily, “I mean _you._ I love _you_ , too.” He smirks at me, nodding, “That's what I thought, fucker.”

Nico looks...oddly perfect. Before a forever sunset sky, incongruous and injurious, smiling with wolfish teeth and that cunning gleam in his crow eyes. Picturesque.

He steals my cigarette, inhaling deeply, until the flame burned to his fingers. Then he flicked it away, “Sorry, just...needed some.” I shrug, “S'alright.” He grins.

“C'mon,” He tells me, standing. His feet rest at an uncomfortable angle on the slant of the roof, and I pretend not to wonder about the flexibility of his ankles. And the flexibility of other places. Ahem. I get up, grabbing out backpacks, “Where to?” He shrugs, and I realize that the music has been playing throughout the entire mess of words and kisses.

_This is for the lions living in the wiry broke down frames of my friends' bodies_

_When the floodwater comes, it ain't gonna be clear, it's gonna look like mud,_

_But I will help you swim_

I smile to myself, letting him lead me over the roof to the back of the house. The fence separating this house and the next was impossibly tall, perhaps purposely. He leaps down gracelessly, and I follow, possibly even less so. The music continues, and I listen to most of it as we balance on the towering fence, before hopping down.

( _This is for the snakes and the people they bite,_

_For the friends I've made, for the sleepless nights,_

_For the warning signs I've completely ignored -_

_There's an amount to take, reasons to take more,_ )

Wordlessly, it's like a mirage of images that blur into a choreography that just...makes sense, in some odd way. Nico, hand in mine, sneaks me through the back door to the kitchen. It's moderately sized, there's antique, flowery curtains on the windows that are stiff from being drawn for so many years and one of the cabinets is missing a door. Pictures hang from the walls: of Hades and Maria, of Hades and a shorter, darker skinned woman with brassy eyes – maybe Hazel's mom – and a black and white photo with a devilish little boy and a woman falling into the dark backdrop (Nico mentioned something about an older brother, used his ID for cigarettes for what felt like centuries ago.)

We step into the living-room; a worn, leather couch situated before the television, a desk stuffed by the doorway to the stairs and hallway. More curtains stiffly drawn, books and papers coating the place, as if that's all this small family of three has ever known, and I really wouldn't be surprised if it was. More pictures on the walls.

A small, crow eyed boy with cropped hair, with a sister with hair tied back in an uncharacteristic ponytail, both uniformed in ugly shirts and pants, in an eased stance. Military school. I cringe at it a little. Nico barely spares it a glance, but allows me to take in more of the décor as he rummages around in a side table for something I don't care too much about. An ovular sized picture irks me above his head. It's of him – I never thought of Hades to be a man of so many pictures, nor care for them – recently.

It's been taken by somebody small, most likely Hazel, and he's caught in his most iconic state. A cigarette lax in his clutch, elbows on his knees as his legs dangled on a wall. He peers down at Hazel with a strained smile and a gleam in his eye that I'm shocked was caught on the camera: contrition. His hair's a mess, like he'd been constantly running a hand through it, and the smile lay crookedly canine on his face – not quite centered like it was so carefully constructed normally. Nico's phone still sings in the echo of the room.

_It's no big surprise you turned out this way,_

_When they closed their eyes and prayed you would change,_

_And they cut your hair, and sent you away -_

Something grapples at my heartstrings, tries to scream at me _do you see? Do you see the strain?_ In a very Reyna-sounding voice, though it was off-kilter by how frantic and panicked she sounded in my head. Something tells me it wasn't Reyna, but somebody very similar looking. My gaze lingers on Bianca in another picture, holding Nico's hand with their mother behind them.

Whatever I was thinking is disrupted, Nico grabbing my hand and tugging me up the stairs. Something heavy settles in my chest, and I squeeze Nico's hand a little too hard, but he doesn't seem to mind. “What's this song called?” I croak. He tells me instantly, not having to think, seemingly speaking instrinctively, “Twin Sized Mattress by The Front Bottoms.” I nod, slotting this information away for later. I have a liking to this song. Very much.

We stroll through the hallways, and I find no immediate interest to details aside from the sudden haze there is to everything. I realize it's the sun. It's streaming through half-open drapes at the end of the hall through the window, dust floating around, undisturbed. It's like a memory, not quite reality, as we step into his room. Everything seems untouched.

It's like he doesn't live here, not like one would normally. It's obvious the laptop's been used, moved around to rest in the center of the floor with a dancing skeleton screen saver. Some of the posters I'd seen yesterday were torn down, replaced by others. Cigarettes loitered on the nightstand, burned into the wood, a few matches in the mix. The air smelled of salt from Friday, presumably, and perhaps Saturday, too. Hazel must've popped in at some point, as three of his hoodies were missing from the array of clothing in the closet, and there was a more noticeable addition of glittery stickers clustering the ceiling above his bed and the bed posts.

( _You stopped by my house, the night you escaped,_

_With tears in my eyes, I begged you to stay,_

_You said, “Hey man, I love you, but no fucking way,”_ )

Nico toes off his shoes and kicks them under the bed, dropping his backpack next to his desk. I do the same, reclining on his mess of sheets and half-torn pillows. He doesn't take care of his belongings, not really. It's like him; he reflects himself in his belongings and his actions. I chuckle quietly, and he raises an eyebrow. I shake my head, pulling him to hide in my side. I see his _Hard Rock_ sweater hanging from his closet door, and feel reminiscent of Friday. That night changed my life, I think. For better or for worse, it seems I'll have to wait for the Fates to figure that out. I decide I'm okay with that.

Beside me, Nico leaves me to shuffle around and upturn his backpack. It's contents empty onto the floor. Cigarettes, lighters, matches, notebooks, stray pencils, a key chain, a half-eaten apple, essays and assignments that never made it to the teacher's desk – a knife. I sigh, squinting at it, “Seriously, what the fuck is up with you and that knife?” He shrugs, “I can't get a handgun 'til I'm twenty-one.” I nod; I suppose that made sense.

Then he rummages in the front pocket and drops a lighter fluid can on top of the mess. I sigh, watching him pad around his room and shove items into his bag. A numerous amount of these items come from under things. Beneath his bed, under his set of drawers – above his closet. I don't see half of the junk he shoves in there, but I watch him dump his lighter and cigarettes back into the bag. And the knife. I raise an eyebrow at him, only for him to waggle his.

He asks me to grab his satchel, which is stuffed in the corner of the room, and tells me to put his sound system into it. I do, along with a couple rolls of film and a Polaroid camera. I raise an eyebrow at him, but he just grins, “It's nothing dangerous,” (“For once,” I add, but he pouts at me, so I kiss him,) “I think you'll enjoy it, actually.” I can only trust his judgment.

I'm brought back to the photos in my locker, of Annabeth and Grover, the occasional glimpse of Luke. My mood dowers, but not by much, since Nico nudges me and screeches unattractively along with the music. He leaves his skateboard propped against the window. Telling me to ignore the nails that jam out of the wall by the sill, I jump out with him. He's shouldering both bags, and I find it somewhat amusing, considering how bulging they are with whatever unknown contents he's forcefully packed in them. I offer to take one, and he gives me the satchel. _My backpack, mine._ He seems to say.

I lace our fingers, him turning pink and myself feeling as if I'm turning blue from how he keeps taking my breath away. Annabeth never blushed like him. She flustered and turned a shade of red that mottled her hair line and smothered the freckles across the bridge of her nose. She was always so pretty, but in a girlish sort of way, the average sort of beauty. Little makeup, and blonde hair; honey skinned and full-lipped. Her kisses had been something chaste, if not even touching, like she was hesitant to come within a centimeter's proximity of me. Annabeth ignored me during the duration of our relationship, hiding behind architectural projects and books towering in stacks, higher than her head – a fortress of sophistication that I found little interest in. I supposed it was a good thing we broke up in the end.

Grover, when I told him, laughed breathlessly and toked up more on the weed from his bong and blew it in my face, “My man, you got some lady troubles right there,” And that was the only solace he had offered me. His girlfriend took up most of his time, and whilst I wasn't jealous or angered by this fact, it was off-putting. That's putting it kindly. I hated how he couldn't look at me long enough to focus, he took nothing seriously and bummed on Juniper's couch in her parents house half the time because he had a struggle with his parents. They kicked him out for smoking pot. (I don't blame them.) Juniper herself looked weary and worn more and more when I saw her after brief intervals of time, as if Grover had been leaching up her energy. Her red hair started becoming knotted and tangled, her olive skin started becoming sallow and her voice lost the mellow, relaxed melody the more and more the years went on. Eventually, she was as brain-dead as her boyfriend, falling low enough to share his bong and develop the permanency of red-rimmed and glossy eyes and dry lips. I wonder how they're doing.

( _This is for the lake that me and my friends swim in,_

_Naked and dumb on a drunken night, it should've felt good,_

_But I can hear the Jaw's theme song on repeat at the back of my mind,  
_

_Make sure you kiss your knuckles before punch me in the face,_

_There are lessons to be learned, consequences for all the stupid things I say,_ )

I blink, wind carding through my hair as Nico continues to mutter the lyrics under his breath, phone nestled in the breast pocket of his denim jacket. I like it on him; the washed out fabric a difference in his block-black attire. His jeans had patches all over them, quotations or sometimes simply vulgar phrases. I love them. I love how his hair's short at the back, and the top's all shaggy. He's a junkyard dog, I decide. Adapted to any environment, though lingering in the shittiest places most, the ones that pain him or make him struggle simply because of the pressure it applies to his chest.

He looks over his shoulder to grin at me, and I smirk back, “Where're we going, Nico?” He gets a twinkle in his eye, shrugging, “Who knows. Wherever my feet take me, mio amore.” Something jumps in my chest at his voice, the way it dips as he speaks the last phrase. I laugh a little, skipping to walk beside him. He cocks his head at me, and I raise an eyebrow, “What? Something on my face?” He nods, and smirks suavely, doing a wriggle to his eyebrows, “Hottness.” I snort, shoving him a little, “Jesus, there's so much cheese on there, I don't know if I can handle it.”

We share a laugh.

* * *

He drags us to a cemetery. The air's still, but it's authentically aesthetic.

Gravestones jut up in the natural form of rocks that came from the ground, and a gravel pathway weaved around the bulk of the dead, circuiting to the mild valleys and up over minor hills. Trees populated the area largely, all evergreen and towering – this must be a beautiful scene during the Fall.

Nico leads us to a bench, and simply sits. Taking a seat beside him, I put an arm around his shoulder, “Wow,” I murmur. He nods, pulling out his camera and easily taking a photo of the scene, “I knew half the people here,” He whispers to me, “And I hated every single fucking one of them.” I would laugh under regular circumstances. But the way he says it, so mystified and gentle, I can't help but just nod and keep my mouth shut. The music still plays, the same song, because Nico put it on repeat after I begged him to put it back on during our walk here. It's about a half-hour walk from the town, but it's worth it.

There're flowers resting on most of the graves, actually sprouting from the ground there. It's evident that once somebody dies, after the funeral, after all the goodbyes and the tears, they're forgotten. Nobody comes to mourn them or talk to them. Just – you die, you disappear. The crows frequent the most, though. Faithful guardians of the cemetery, crying their murder and watching us – me – with beady eyes. They clack their beaks and try to figure out what to do with me, but I have nothing to offer them but my unconditional affection for them despite never being fond of birds.

Nico points to a tiny crow watching directly above us, and I realize she's a raven. Not a crow, a raven, and she's still been taken into the clan. I smile up at her. “Ludlow, that's her name,” He tells me. I nod, and she lets out a soft coo, before taking off and flying to rest upon a claw-like structure of stone. He takes another picture, and a second one, until the second becomes the seventh, and I find myself slowly watching them develop under the sunlight. They look dated – the film must be old, expensive – but they're still pretty little squares of picture.

He catches angles where the red sky comes to rest softly behind the cold gray of the stone, or sometimes a catch of the crows resting on the gravestones. Sometimes, just the gravestones themselves; I read a few of the engravements, and find myself loving the little entries.

_In loving memory of Martha Bradley_

_1951 – 2011_

_'a loving soul, generous and kind'_

They were simplistic, stereotypical and a dime a dozen style engravings, but I find myself falling in love with them anyways. Nico leans against me after a while, humming under his breath as he filed through the photos he'd taken. Then he hooks an around around my neck, angling the camera to face us, and presses our mouths together. I easily reciprocate, my hand reaching to hold the camera with him. I feel the white flash against my eyelids, and the shutter of a photo being spit out. He rests it with the others, and stands to pull me along. We stand by a gravestone that had intricate designs on it and a name overgrown with moss. He links my hand with his own, and rests them on top of the rock. He takes another picture. I smile, “C'mon, you little photographer, let's move on,” He nods, and quietly thanks me with his eyes. “I love you,” I murmur, as we leave through the wrought-iron gates. The crows watch our backs, as if bound to the cemetery, and we make our way back down the winding dirt road that leads back to the town.

( _And it is no big surprise that you turned out this way,_

 _The spark in your eyes, the look on your face,_ )

* * *

“We're gonna make decorations,” He says with determination, standing in the center of our little, bedazzled billboard hangout, looking at me with childish excitement. I chuckle, “Is that what you packed?” he nodded, sitting cross-legged and pulling out two pairs of scissors, a bunch of paper and aluminum foil, along with sellotape and string, among other things. I smile at him, “You're kidding me.”

Nico looks offended, blinking at me with the peevishness of a cat, “I think you mean, I'm dead fucking serious. I want starts and shit, dude. I want fucking shiny shit and I want magpies to be so fucking jealous of this place that they leave forks on the roof to honor it.” I sit in front of him, shaking my head. I can't wipe the grin off my face, “Whatever we want?” He nods.

I start cutting out fish on blue and green paper, linking them with the tacks that are in a safe, little container. I look up, finding him making strange shapes with newspaper and stringing them along a length of twine. I let him continue with his business, drawing little scales and eyes on my fish and holding them up proudly. I punch holes in the tops and bottoms of them, planning on having them on a string vertically somewhere.

Nico's hanging up his length of jumbled newspaper shapes along the front of the fairy-lights. He nods towards the back wall, where _FUCK_ remains proudly in its blue cloud. The shapes project shadows above the decoration, stating _I love to_ in blocky letters. I feel a stream of giggles leave my mouth, and I turn back to Nico standing proudly. I walk over to him, slipping my hands around his waist and pulling him to me. It's not adorably sappy, our kiss, I feel like that's something unsuitable for us. What I'll say is that it's raw and involves teeth and is smothered multiple times by laughter and smiles. The way I love them, the way I couldn't share kisses with Annabeth or Luke.

“God, you're a fucking mastermind, aren't you? I'm boyfriends with a devious little genious.” Nico shrugs, “Hazel likes paper crafts.” He looks at my line of fish, and says, “I have glitter.” He made a very big mistake by telling me that.

Five minutes later, three of my fish are a glittery blob of a vague fish-shape, and it's hanging along the power-line closest to the fuse box we're using to power the fairy-lights and anything else. It's a mess of glitter, sparkles drifting down to the streets below. I grin happily, and see Nico leaning on one elbow, his jaw cupped by his palm.

But he's not angry; he;s giving me a fond look, _What am I gonna do with this dork_? He seems to say. I nod at him, _Yeah, that's right. You're stuck with me now._ Nico doesn't mind, if his eye roll is anything to go by.

We return to our crafts, and I watch him with memorization as his hands work quickly to create origami starts and hook them up along the ceiling with duct-tape, some of them swathed in foil to make them shine. I had to hold him up to reach the ceiling, but neither of us minded.

By the time we're finished, a couple hours filled with nothing but music and enthusiastic, unplanned kisses, me and Nico slide down against the wall to look at everything. There's a dream catcher in the center of the ceiling, as I'd promised. It's made out of popsicle sticks and a shitty cobweb-structure with the string, a few obnoxious feathers and sparkly beads strung along it, and it was generally some train wreck your three year old would present to you, but I love it.

Nico managed to cut a few skeletons holding hands and stick them along the framework, and I'd made a lines of cupcake liners that held the most strange patterns. Some where green and polka-dotted, others were purple and pink striped, and a few were rainbow. Nothing matched. It was perfect. Circular, paper garlands acted as bead curtains along the right side, in shades of black and blue, sometimes green and white.

He yawns, and pulls out a cigarette, “Time s'it?” I glance at his phone, “Twelve twenty-two.” He nods, humming, “Okay.” My stomach rumbles, and he nods again, “Okay.” As if he was talking to my stomach, “I hear you, okay.” I chuckle, ruffling his hair, “I'm hungry.”

Nico stretches, “We'll go get something or whatever. Just give me a minute.” I nod, and we sit pleasantly in the warmth that came from the sun in the red sky.

* * *

Nico receives a call from Jason a little later, on our way to McDonald's. I hold his hand the entire way, smiling as he rolled his eyes.

“Dude, I just – why did you leave? Lou's fucking pissed. And Cecil. And Will's really sad right now.” Nico hummed, “I know. I'll be in school tomorrow, Jay -” The blond groans from the other end, “Nico. You can't keep ditching. You'll become a highschool dropout.” Kicking a rock, Nico shrugged, “So? It's not like I have much future anyways,” I frown, “Hey -”

Jason finished my thought for me, “You have plenty of potential, if you just put in the _time_ and the _effort_ , you could get so far -” He rolls his eyes, tonguing his cheek, “And I can accomplish anything, get a good paying job and settle with some nice guy and adopt half a billion kids, live happily ever after and die old.” I want to be that guy.

Nico looks bitter about it, and Jason gives a chuckle, “Basically, yeah.” He huffs, kicking the rock with a burst of anger, “Oh yeah, 'cause that's definitely what I want to fucking do with my life. I wanna die young and...” He glances at me, as if rethinking that statement. Jason's quiet, and Nico scratches his nose.

Then he squares his shoulders and says, “I don't care, Jason. Let my grades drop, it's not like anybody's gonna tell me that there's something worth living for 'cept an office job and alcoholism.” Me and the blond both are quiet, and we step into McDonald's. We walk up to the cashier, who looks surprised to see students outside of school.

Nico continues on the phone, and I quickly order.

“No, Jason, just – fuck. Nobody will care about some dumb kid, okay? We're all ants, on this big fucking planet -”

“And we're all meaningless in the void around us, and there's no purpose to live 'cept to make a difference that in by no means will truly affect anything, therefore life is meaningless and full of nothing.”

“Exactly. Now just get the fuck off my back -”

“I'm just trying to be a good friend -”

“I know you are, but who ever said I needed one?”

“I do! You can't strike lone-wolf out there, Nico! You have friends – me, Lou – what about Percy? Huh? Isn't he, like, basically your boyfriend by now?”

Nico snarls, “Don't bring him into this, you fucking asshole -”

“I can and I will! Percy! Back me up on this!” I blink widely, swallowing thickly as Nico's burning eyes turn to me. I shrug, brushing out hands, “Friends are company on your lonely road.” He knocks his head against the window, curling up in his booth, “What the fuck ever. I don't care, Jason.”

“You don't care about anything anymore.”

Nico's silent. Then he sighs, opens and closes his mouth, and shakes his head, “Do I need to?” He sounds small. I lean against him, pecking his cheek. He turns pink, and gives me a sweet smile. Jason sighs heavily, and I imagine him running a hand through his hair, “I think any time now would be a good start, Nico. You've been like this since -” Nico flared up, “ _Do you think I give a single damn?_ ” I jump a little at the acidic tone to his voice, as does the waitress that came with our tray, spilling cola all over the table. Nico glares at his jeans, then breathes evenly through his nose and stalks out of the restaurant. I wince, and quickly help the lady clean up, and apologize for his rudeness.

He's gone when I step out.

My thighs are sticky, I'm left with Nico's phone with Jason confused on the other end, and with my boyfriend fucking missing.

“Jason, where would he go?” I ask him. The blond's quiet, before clicking his fingers, “Back home, probably.” Nodding, I run a hand through my hair, “Okay. Sorry man, I dunno what's under his skin.” Jason huffs, “Nothing's _under_ it, Percy. It's just Nico.” I don't like the way he says it, like an annoyed hiss. I bite back my protectiveness, and sigh, “Whatever. Thanks man.” I hang up.

I'm feeling pretty pissed myself, if I'm honest.

* * *

I stalk through the streets, not paying attention to much. Before I know it, I'm storming across Nico's lawn and jumping up the tree to his window. I'm not exactly expected for the scene I see.

His room's trashed. The closet has fallen forward onto the floor, on of the bed posts has been kicked down, splintered at the base. Posters were torn down, papers and books everywhere. There's a sketchbook sprawled on the floor. Creeping in, I pick it up. The first image presented to me is of a little boy, impossibly thin, being grabbed at from hands off the page.

He's got big, black, crow-like wings dragging along the floor, and a wolf's head over his own, maw hanging open to reveal his unsmiling mouth. But with the way the shadow falls, the wolf's teeth look like a grin. (I don't think it's a coincidence.)

Gently, I close the book and set it on his bed.

Then, I open his bedroom door and head along the hall. It's silent, eerily lonely, yet still in that foggy haze of sunlight that drifted through the blinds, and I'm struck with that hollowly connective feeling again. I hurry through, trying to ignore the photos on the wall.

At the other end of the hall, I look up, ready to turn to the stairs.

A door's wide open, leading to what I presumed was Hades' room. There's shuffling, drawers being slammed open and shut again angrily. Then there's the _shfft_ of a bottle being opened.

I peer into the room, seeing Nico rummaging in a cabinet by the bed. The room's dark; plain blinds and a neat set of drawers as the end of the bed, a desk and ancient computer by the window. A few photos rested on the nightstand, but aside from that, it was bare.

Nico was chugging a bottle of prosecco that looked far too big in his hands.

Hurrying, I reach over and swipe it from him, throwing it out the hall. It starts to seep into the wooden floorboards. He growls at me, about to whirl and snap at me, until he faltered. Realizing it was me, he looks wounded, and stumbles back.

I realize I must look furious. I take a few deep breaths, and look him in the eyes, “Nico, you know better -” Wrong thing to say.

He stomps his foot, heel digging into the woodwork, “Andare a cazzo if you're gonna give me a damn lecture on safe drinking, stronzo!” I see no fire in his eyes, just shame. Walking closer to him, I pin him against the wall, “Nico -”

He knees me in blind anger, making me buckle a little, but I huff through the pain, “Nico -” I grasp his wrists, holding them to his sides. And before he can move, I shift to wrap him in my arms and drag him back to his room. He kicks and screams the entire way, biting words at me and pounding until I feel like my arms are black and blue. He'll feel bad later, I know, and maybe he'll call himself a monster, but I can't ask for much else.

“I fucking hate you,” He pants, all energy lost as I settle him on the overturned closet. I sit beside him, arm around his waist, “No you don't,” He chuckles dryly, “No, I don't.”

He kicks his backpack across the room, contents spilling. All the photos we took, the camera, the crafts we made. The knife slides until it nudges into the wall's boarder across the room. “I'm not sorry for a lot of things,” He whispers, voice hoarse, imploring me to raise an eyebrow.

Not looking at me, Nico shrugs, “I'm sorry you had to see that.” I tilt his head, brushing our lips, “It's fine, seriously.”

Snarling, he shoves me away to glare at the ceiling, “It's not, though. I'm a fucking timebomb, and you're just here telling me everything's okay, and that you love me, and you're so fu-fucking...so fucking... _good to me_ , too fucking good, and I – I – I – fuck! What do I do with you?”

He gives me watery eyes, so genuinely distressed, and I find myself voiceless.

Nico flails his hands, kicking angrily at the floor, “Look at you! You're a fucking god, Percy! The best, the fucking greatest thing that – that – that will ever -” He wipes his nose, voice dying in his throat. I rest a hand on his shoulder, but he tenses and curls his knees to his chest.

I don't know how he does it.

Red-rimmed eyes, bloodshot and fanatical, mouth contorted into this sorrowful shape that doesn't suit him at all – and he makes it work. He's fucking beautiful, and I just want to kiss him and drink up whatever he has to offer. I'll break my back for him, I'll kiss every one of his knuckles and let him punch the shit out of me, I'll kill for a kiss. I'd die alone just to hold his hand once.

“You're too good for me,” He whispers.

I think he's got it the wrong way around.

I tell him so, and suddenly I'm crying, and he's clinging to me, and we're just a sad pile of pent up frustration that every teenager goes through, so small in this dead-end city in a world that has nothing and a universe full of even less. That's the realest thing I've thought today.

We're shaking, sniffling, muttering nonesense and just pathetic, gripping each other like a lifeline, and I don't know what to do, what to say, how to react, because Nico's supposed to be this strong, independent boy with no belief in a successful future and taking things with an infinite grain of salt over his shoulder, and he runs solely on adrenaline and the lust for lies, pumped on break-neck activities and this no-guts-no-glory character that every girl dreams about in the fictional books, the perfect role model for a bad kid with a broken home but still _lives_ through it all, survives and tells tales without breaking a sweat and is still _alive_ and still _seeing the worth of life_ , unafraid to give death the middle finger, so much as flirting with it in attempts to give some spice to his life and just – and just -

Invisible.

Turns out, he's just like the rest of us. He's not a demigod, he's not made of titanium and running on motor oil; he's got a heart and soft insides, just like the rest of us, with fragile bones and a tender heart.

It makes me hug him tighter, until he's hiding his face in my neck as I disappear into his hair. “I'm sorry,” I whisper, only for him to shake his head, “I'm sorry.” We come to a mutual agreement to sit in silence, and I stand, pulling him to his bed and laying him down. I take his shoes off, and he lets out a desperate sound when I pull away. I kiss his cheek, “I'll be right back, don't worry.”

Placing his sketchbook elsewhere, I toe off my shoes and slide in beside him. He tucks himself up against my side, myself running fingers through his hair, “Just...rest.” I advise. Reaching over to where I rested his phone, I return to that fuzzy song that Bianca listened to a lot, and let it soothe his nerves.

_If you still hate yourself,_

_We'll cut ourselves and_

_Swallow chunks of broken glass,_

_I don't care about finishing college_

Instead, we both stare at the ceiling, and who knows, perhaps our pulses are in sync, though I'm too busy wondering about what he's thinking to notice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So like - I crossed my fingers when I was checking this fic, and really hoping it had been updated. And then I realized _I'm the fucking author_ and I yelled, "FUCKING ELI." Really loud and my significant other gave me a deadpan look from the kitchen, "I mean - I am fucking you, but like. Right now? I'm making food." And I kinda wanna punch him. 
> 
> I'm also really sorry that this chapter turned into a song-based fic sort of thing...uggggh, I just love _Twin Size Mattress_ by _The Front Bottoms_ a little too much, and I listened to it a little too much whilst writing this up. And another song, by _Salvia Plath, Teen Suicide_ and I know it's probably annoying, but whatever. I think they fit into the fic, and I like using songs to help me out with parts I'm struggling with.


	10. The Dawning Terror And Tenderness He Gives Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alternatively named _I Deserve A Fucking Medal For The 'Worst Person In The Damn World' Award_

_"I become insane_  
_with long intervals of_  
_horrible sanity"_

-Edgar Allan Poe

*

**CHAPTER TEN**

Fog curls around our feet as the stars start to filter through the trees, his smoke only adding to it with every poisonous exhale. It's like watching silver pour through holes in a canopy of dark shapes, a flexing, mindless cloak of cigarette remains ashen in the air.

Then suddenly a cigarette's in my hand and I'm craving every hit I take, imagining chapped lips against mine that curls into a smirk whenever I do something to please them. Instead of calming me, it makes my heart race faster and faster. 

And, just as suddenly it had appeared, it was gone, and he's crying beside me silently. I'm confused, it all feels wrong, I can't hear what he's saying. It's just an amalgamation of his mouth opening and closing, hollow cheeks glistening so prettily despite the  _horror_ in his eyes. 

Then, it starts flowing through the silence, “I was sad,” He says, “Really sad, y'know?” An emptiness to his voice is resounding, an echo that is unsettling. Tears stream down his face, and I realize that his gaze is glued to that one, marble grave.

“But what's worse is how  _fucking angry_ I was,” He corrects himself, “Am.”

* * *

I grin loosely, leaning against the playground's fencing, “Dude – fucking...” I shake my head at Percy, who turned red from running, “That was some _bad_ shit.” He just accompanied me in thriftshopping. (I'm close to wiping Monday's Mama's Boy from existence. I don't know how to feel about that.)

He slumps beside me, smiling tiredly. “Here,” I empty my backpack and offer him a can of Red Bull, “You drink?” Percy's huffing a little, shaking his head at my drink, “Not usually...but one time wont hurt, right?” He reaches for it, opens it, and chugs half of it. I smirk at him secretly.

We clink our cans, and drink in silence. I soak up the odd hues of the sky – I've never seen them as deeply blue as this, only around seven, too. A surprise, a fresh look for this fucking town. Maybe I have my new puppy to thank for that. Puppy being Percy. I feel a loose nail from the fence dig into my shoulder, but I pay it no mind.

Pulling out my cigarettes, and taking a well deserved hit, he watches me with interest and curiosity. ~~I have a bad feeling~~. His expression flickers concern when I hold in the smoke a little longer than necessary. I breathe it out, and he chuckles, “You're an adrenaline junky.” My lungs burn. My heart's squeezing from holding it in for so long. Shrugging, I smirk, “I am. There's nothing wrong with that.”

Percy shakes his head at me, muttering something I should probably take as advice, and I reply with something that probably worries him a little, considering the furrowed knit to his eyebrows. But he's still intrigued, gaze flickering to and from my cigarette.

Feeling somewhat grateful for his existence, though as abrupt as it is, I say, “I could've used somebody like you a couple years ago,” His green eyes widen a little, before he smiles sweetly, “I'm glad you're here now.” I am, I really am. He's just...a difference to my years being here. A fresh face, a fresh slate, fresh fresh fresh. Like mint toothpaste. Except, it wont get old after a while. (It's confirmed; Percy is Colgate toothpaste.)

“I'm glad too,” He mutters.

He finally gathers courage, and utters, “Hey, mind me trying one of them?” It's cute, how he's trying to sound confident about the question, like I can't see his heart screaming at him that's he's an idiot. But he's stubborn, as am I, so I stall. His response is to shrug and smile dopily at me, “Firsts for everything, right?”

I can't argue with that. But...no, there's nothing stopping me. He's a lil' puppy in a town full of wolves, and if he doesn't toughen up, they'll wear him down to nothing. “Knock yourself out.” I've sealed a contract. He's screwed.

Though, it is sort of funny to watch him choke.

* * *

Stepping through the front door of my humble abode, I immediately regret not going directly to my window. My father, tall, towering man he is, sat at the kitchen table. Papers all around him, probably Joan Benet's legal papers and requirements for her funeral. I never liked Joan. She was too handsy, liked to tug at my hair whenever she saw me.

I'm glad she's dead.

I sort of wish I was, too, when he looks up at me with smoldering eyes.

“Nico,” He starts, baritone and collected. Trying not to tense up, I nod at him and move to turn off the television. It was airing static, Hazel passed out on the couch. “Sir,” I reply. He raises an eyebrow at me, frown deep-set on his face, “Where were you?” Shrugging, I dump my box of matches into the side table leading to the stairs, “Out.”

“Anywhere specific?” I'm already angering him, his pen tapping against the table in attempts to soothe himself. Like hell am I doing it for him. “Around.” I sigh. Hades runs a hand through his hair – he cut it recently, and I gotta admit, it actually looks pretty good. I wonder if Poseidon will notice. Probably. Poor guy slobbers all over my dad. (he's chill.)

Hazel shifts a little on the couch, and I move to hoist her up. My father stares at me with eyes like deadbolts as I make my way to the stairs. “Persephone would've liked to see you today.” He says. I snort, “Unlikely.” I get no response.

Everywhere is dark right now, though that's sensical, considering it was around ten at night. Hazel's breath against my cheek, her hands curling into my shirt – adorable. I maneuver her into the bedroom laced in yellow and silly stickers, settling her on her bed. It's covered in her homework, so once I get her untangled from me, I pack it up into her bag. She whines when I start to leave, ending with me shucking off my hoodie and bundling her in it. I leave her window open, so she doesn't get too hot and wake up.

Then I close the door, letting out a breath.

“I'd like to talk with you, Nico.” _Jesus fucking Christ giving Satan head_. I try to smother my jolt, but the way my father's gaze changes on the back of my head tells me I did a poor job. I shrug, slipping into my room. I leave the door open; there's no stopping this man when he wants something.

He steps in behind me, closing the door. Shit. There goes my escape route. I lounge on my bed, “What's there to talk about?” Hades sits by my feet, “What do you mean, _what's there to talk about?_ ” So we're starting this strong. I'm fucked.

“You leave without my permission, stay out until moonrise, and do god knows what without my knowledge.” I dump my bag on the desk, and say nothing. Something tells me I'll be picking it back up soon. “When did you start caring?” I snark at him. My father gives me an incredulous look, and okay, I get that I'm being a brat, but fuck him. He's a jerk to me all the time, taste of your own medicine and all that.

He doesn't have a response, which I'm unsure to laugh at for embrace the ache around my heart area. I choose to smirk, barking out a harsh chuckle, “Can't answer?” I shrug, “Expected, I guess. You're a fucking asshole anyways.” That makes him move.

He snarls at me, “That's a lie and you know it. And don't you cuss at me, young man, I am your father – you will treat me with some damn respect.” I nod, examining my nails, “You sure about that? You're not exactly winning any Father of the Year Awards, just saying.”

Huffing, he raises his fist, and I'm not exactly threatened by the stance. “You're a fucking heathen -” I snort, “Like you're any better?” - “Your grades are falling, god knows what fucking shit you get up to outside the house – I've had enough calls from school to know that you're just...just...” He grows red in the face, flustering for something to describe what fuck up he has for a sun.

I just shake my head, chuckling bitterly as I smirk at him. I raise an eyebrow, “Just a what? A splitting image?” I leer, leaning up to him, “Exactly like you? A miserable mess destined for nothing? Pretty accurate, though for who, I'm not sure.” Hades growls at me, “This isn't the conversation I wanted to have with you -”

“Well look where we are. Sure did a good job at keeping things civil.”

“I'm trying, Nico, if you just - “

“Be a good little boy? Fat chance.”

“If you got yourself together, I'd be able to fucking tolerate you -”

“Tolerate? Such a strong word, dear father, are you sure you mean it?”

“Listen here, you little shit - “

“I've never been good at that.”

He stomps his foot childishly, “Will you shut up?” I shrug, suddenly falling silent. I'm watching his fist tremble, knuckles white. His teeth are clenched together, almost cutting his tongue, I think, and his eyes are far too livid to have any rationality. I know rage when I see it. I'm on a thin line – if I stray from it, I'm as good as dead. Running a hand down his face, he grits out, “Sometimes I wonder if your mother made you the little fucker you are. You certainly didn't get it from me.”

I feel white heat pool in my gut, something snaps with a sharp _twang_ and suddenly I'm spitting fire.

“My mother was a saint – better than your sorry ass.”

And, no, I'm not the only with a sore spot when it came to my mother. I should've taken that into consideration before I swore at him. Next thing I know, I'm watching tears threaten to spill, mouth contorted into something far scarier than I'll ever be able to mimic, and he's screaming at me to leave. I'm not surprised to see Hazel peeking through the doorway.

I've crossed a line – I know that much.

I wave her away discreetly, swiping my bag from the desk and snarling as Hades paces a little. “What the fuck ever, I'm better than you'll ever be.” A blatant lie, but it makes me feel better.

Blindly, I slam open my window and jump down.

I linger by the tree because of how I worry I've fucked up my ankles more so than the fact that I'm waiting for my father to leave my room before I skulk off. Aching feet were never fun things. I rub my ankle a little – why was my window so high up?

I hear a voice calling to me, and turn to find Percy waving me over from his window. He doesn't know what deep shit he's getting in, the cute idiot. He's like a loyal dog, door open as he wags his tail for me to return home.

Hoisting myself up, I sprint over. A place to sleep is a place to sleep – whether it's my home or a total stranger's. I use his lower window to boost me to his bedroom, perching on the sill with an easy smirk, “What's up Shark Bait?” He looks like he's seen hell. I comment on it.

Percy sighs, exasperated. Suddenly he's hooked his hand around my backpack, dragging me over his desk into his room. I squawk a little, failing. I don't like being manhandled. I stumble, “Shit – what the fuck are you -”

He tugs me to his bed, stealing my jacket and bag while he's at it, “Get in; no way are you sleeping on the floor.” I blink, glancing back at him over my shoulder. Percy looks tired, but concerned for me, and ushers me under the comforter. I feel stiff, curled up against the wall, out of place.

Why is he letting me stay?

He gets in, says something about comfort, and I move to rest my head on the pillow. He's warm; comfy, safe. Oddly enough. I'd never expected to find safety anymore; guess I was wrong. He says goodnight, and I yawn, “Buona notte, big guy.”

* * *

We don't talk about it the next day.

I'm fine with that.

Cecil just threw lettuce at me.

(A summary of everyday.)

* * *

Lou tugs experimentally at the braids that Hazel has wound into my hair, snickering, “She's got you whipped.” I scowl, “She's my fucking sister, of course she does.” Will sits across from me, rolling his eyes. He upturns the card he placed on top of mine: no match. “I like them; gives you some color.” Lou shifts behind me, starting to separate three strands of hair and making her own braid. She sucks at them – I'll have more knots in my hair than usual.

Cecil rolls around beside Will, until his jaw rests on the blond's thigh, “Wha' we doin', noways?” I'm surprised my freckled friend understands that pothead half the time. Will shrugs, me placing another card on the pile, “Playing snap.” The curly haired boy hums, then moves away to lounge beside us. He's a good wind blocker, I'll give him that. The fucking dumbass.

Percy strolls over after a while -”Dude, save me from eternal boredom,” Lou says – but he simply sits beside Will and stares at the quickly growing pile of cards between the five of us. “What's up, Shark Bait? You look tired.” I wince a little, but don't comment.

He yawns, rubbing his eye, “You guys just missed a snap.” It looks like he doesn't want to talk about it either. I feel sort of bad, but quickly check the recent cards me and Will put down and mutter, “Snap.” And take them. Will groans; only five cards in his hand. I now have the forty-seven.

Cecil whines loudly, “Fuck, I go' the...the munches.” Lou whacks him, “Munchies, you have the munchies, retard.” Will rubs Cecil's leg, where she hit him, “Be nice.” Percy's quiet. Not good. I feel a sense of wrong. I stand abruptly, ignoring Lou yanking a few strands of hair. I dump my deck into her hands, “Cover for me.”

Percy throws a confused look at me, but I hook my hand around his backpack and tug him up, “You're coming with me to steal fairy tears.” I get a weak chuckle from him, and he takes little energy to get him to follow me.

We walk from the classroom – the teacher left to get coffee or some shit. He rubs his eye, “What's up?” I shrug, leaning against the locker, “That's my question.” Throwing me a confused look, he steps a little closer. I'm glad I haven't put him off so much that he can't come near me. “Nothing, why?”

“Liar.” He keeps fiddling his hands, shifting his feet – wont look me in the eyes. He's lying. Something's on his mind; he keeps running a hand through his hair, resting it on the back of his neck. Something pressing. “How do you know?” I remain silent. Most people are unnerved by a simple stare. Doesn't have to be significant, just has to get under their skin. I'm exceptionally good at such things.

Eventually, Percy relents, bumping my shoulder, “Just...what – what happened? Last night, I mean.” Oh. “I came over to your house. You kidnapped me. We fell asleep at some time after three.” I don't want to explain the debacle with my dad.

Nonetheless, he digs his metaphorical fingers around my head, “No, with...with your dad.” It's like he's treating me as a rabid canine. In a sense, I must be one, if he's so small right now, like a puppy. I shrug, digging out a stick of gum, “Me being a general little shit. Pissed him off, dug up wounds; y'know, brat stuff.” My stuff. Me stuff. Stuff that only kids as rotten as me are willing to do, just to watch the threads of one's being get torn apart.

I'm a sadistic little shit like that, you see.

Percy furrows his eyebrows, frowning. Not like he's mad, but more like...he's _upset_ , for me, for my dad, I don't know. He sighs, running a hand through his hair, “That's all?” I nod. I don't like how he's trying to pry me open with inexperienced fingers, and somehow getting deeper than a professional will ever get.

“It didn't seem like it.”

“A lot of things don't seem like they do,” I quip.

He doesn't so much as flinch, “It looked like he was going to hit you.”

There's a hysterical hilarity to t his situation: he's not even trying to take a different approach, so painfully stubborn, but I'm even more so. Yet...he's bull-headed, striking at me in the same spot, even though it's not my weakest point, and _getting through_. I don't like it. He's dangerous, he's a dangerous motherfucker; I need to be careful.

Shrugging, I chew idly, “He wouldn't.” No, the man has morals. Surprisingly.

Verbally abusing his kid isn't one of them, but physical abuse seems to be.

Percy looks unsure, restless. I fix him with a serious look, “Okay, Percy?” He nods at me, still worrying at his lip. “Get the big picture before you start picking at the tiny things.” With that, I punch his arm lightly, “And good luck with that. You're not getting it from me.” And then I walk back into the classroom.

* * *

Cecil's most coherent sentence of the day: “ _Why aren't carats spelled like carrots?_ ”

Lou whacked him over the head for that. Will, of course, told her to be nice. I don't care.

Percy found the turn of events to be – quote-unquote - “Zero to a hundred real fast.”

* * *

Hazel, my sweet, beautiful little Hazel Nut.

She tugs at my jacket, engulfed in another one of my own, and pouts, “Why can't I come to Bonfire Night?” I pat her head, then resume to slice watermelon and apples, “Because I have a feeling, dolcezza,” She falls quiet, mystified, golden eyes blinking at me with caution, “What feeling?”

“That the Big Kids are gonna have a bit of a disagreement, dolcezza. And -” She nods, hugging me as I cut triangles in the watermelon, “I need to be safe, so I don't get hurt. I know.” I nod, “That's right, bellissima.”

'Sneakily', she'll come back into the kitchen later and steal the apple and watermelon seeds to bring to school for harvest season. By then, they would've semi-sprouted, since she keeps them on her windowsill. I chuckle to myself, biting into a slice of apple.

There's one pro to having Persephone around: she gets good fruit.

Even then, she's still a bitch.

* * *

Hades returns home a little later, smelling like rotting flesh and exposed insides. He ignores me, barely says hello to Hazel, and stalks off to his bedroom. Not like I care.

She pouts at me, “Why doesn't he like us?” I shrug. Then I shove her a bowl of watermelon and apple slices. I put on some cartoon, and she quickly forgets why she was upset in the first place. I ruffle through my bag, pull out my pocket knife, and wander back into the kitchen. On the table, there's paper and pens, binders flayed open with grim, gray faces attached to names that I've never held much sentiment for. I lift up the thickest folder, and etch into the table. It's easy, the material is soft wood, and I feel grim and gleeful when I'm done.

_You'll be one of the faces in these binders one day, and I'll find grim sobriety in my life just to spite you._

I'm such a pleasant son to have; no wonder he's so proud of me. I abscond quickly, pocket knife back in my bag, and a knock at the door. I wander over; Jason and Reyna's gentle bickering greeting me through the door.

“Hey,” They say. I nod at them, “What's up?” Reyna breezes past me, and I move aside for the behemoth blond. The older girl starts ushering Hazel for her shoes and her backpack; the one she carries toys and entertainment in. Jason grins at me, “We're going to the park.” I nod, shrugging, “Better than this.” We leave without a word, Hazel riding on my skateboard as I tug her along.

* * *

There isn't anything worthy of mentioning that happens, but...jealousy is something I don't experience often.

I reserve my glares at Jason; he pushes Hazel on the swing, runs around with her and pretends to be the big bad monster whilst she saves Princess Reyna. And the noises she lets out – all the giggles, how big her smile is, the way she seems so alive and happy?

I'm not the one who caused it, like I should be doing. But, no, I'm sitting on the fence, wasting my life away with cigarettes. I want to play, god I want to, just so she'll laugh with me and hug me afterward – but...I can't. It's a strange thing to explain. I want to do so many things:

stop being a fuck up

be a good older brother

fix my life

fix the rest

be good at something for once.

And then there's the technicality of everything, the realism behind it all, and the facts state that I'm not built for that sort of things, and it pisses me off so much, it's just not fair – I'm can be those things, I can do those things, and there isn't much I want in my life, not really, even though the things I want are big, they're _not much_.

And I just – I just. Can't. I just can't anything.

Hazel squeals when Reyna runs with her on her shoulders. Jason roars loudly, chasing after them. Hazel catches my eyes – no, no, don't look at me, I'm miserable, you don't need to see that – and frowns. I raise an eyebrow.

Jason says something, and her attention is torn away.

She smiles so fucking big.

She laughs so fucking loud.

She lets out a sound of joy when -

NO. NO.

I leap up, racing over to Hazel. She's tearing up, clutching her bloody knee. Reyna's looking like the dictionary definition of guilt, and Jason's looking ready to call 911 or something. Crouching beside her, I coo, “Hey, sweetie, it's okay. We'll get it patched up, yeah?” She nods, sniffling. She clutches my shirt so fucking tight. I love it.

God, I'm the worst.

* * *

I tell Percy what happened at the park later, guilt like a raging monster in my stomach. He listens, and I'm flustered, frustrated. He settles a hand on my shoulder, smiling at me, “Hey, you're a good brother; you're just...” Fucked up. Not actually a good brother. Monster. “On another level half the time.” I don't know what that means.

He sees the confusion, and wraps an arm around my shoulder, “She's seeing things like all ten year olds do, buddy. Everything's busy, and loud, and big – like you. You see things like...gray; everything's gray for you, no right or wrong, so when you know you've done something wrong, It feels so much worse. Trust me,” He grins, “She doesn't hate you. She understands that you're busy.” With what, I have no idea anymore.

It used to be homework.

Then I was busy smoking.

Then I was busy chasing something nonphysical.

Then I was busy wallowing in self hate.

Now I'm busy with this.

This being... _something_.

I tell him I don't get it. He just smirks, “You don't need to.” And no, I guess I don't.

* * *

Lou drags me to the beach around ten, and we sit under the stars. She tells me about how her brother's run off again, and how frustrating it is. She tells me how her mom's so busy with work, with that damned magic shop that gets no money. I lend her twenty dollars, and she gives me the empty promise of paying me back.

She kicks in frustration at the shore, where the water laps, before sighing. I hug her, and she tears up a little with the whimper of, “Everything's so fucking hard, Nico.” All I can do is nod, agree with her, and remain silent. Gazing at the stars, I whisper,

“As long as the stars are in the sky, nothing will be easy.” She takes it to heart, and chuckles wetly. We sit for another ten minutes aimlessly watching the black ocean, before she stands and tells me she's gotta bounce. When I don't move, she doesn't say anything and watches me. I don't look at her. She doesn't say anything, and stops looking at me, and leaves.

When she's gone, away from the beach, I take off my shoes. My jacket, my socks, they all get folded neatly and put out of reach from the high tides. And then I'm being chilled by ocean pooling around my ankles.

I can't discern sky from ocean; everything is black and sparkling, cold and still. Wading through the water, I make it to my waist before I trip on seaweed and fall onto my back. I float, rocked by waves, stars down on me.

I don't know what to feel. Nobody's here with me, everything's so quiet, and all I have for company is my heartbeat. I hate it. I hate it so fucking much, but then again, I hate everything with vehement passion, as all teenagers do. I'll just eat my heart, I tell myself, then I wont feel it anymore.

I'm angry, sad, numb.

So nothing's changed.

* * *

Percy is annoyingly pretty. He's got those pretty eyes and that pretty smile and that handsome soul that wants nothing more than love and peace, starved of what it will never get. I love it, unfortunately.

But I've broken him.

He's smoking his _third_ cigarette within the past three hours beside me, as our legs dangle over the edge of the cliff. He lets out weird, choked laughter whenever I say something that would normally make people shift away from me, and he looks at me with this strange sort of admiration, and it's so weird and foreign to see that from a normal person. But...he's grown on me, so much, like strangle weed around a tree, and I don't think I can untangle him now. I don't think I want to, either.

I got him to talk about his mom, earlier. A madcrack woman, by my standards, and I want to be able to joke and tell him such things, and I do, but it's clear there's something that stops me from going further. Sally is so much like my mother was. So overprotective, and she just wanted the best, but...but...it just didn't turn out that way.

He gives me this understanding look, and I hate myself for it. Then he put his arm around my shoulder and said that he's sure that I am a good kid, there's something good inside me that keeps me going, even if my exterior is something challenging. I hate myself more. He doesn't notice, oblivious, and I'm glad. He doesn't need to know.

Then he chuckles at another thing I say, and I feel okay.

* * *

I'm terrified.

He's so close.

He's got his talons so deep, so far into this clusterfuck of flesh and tendons.

I don't know when he's going to pull away, but by god, it's gonna leave a mark.

And, what's worse, is that I don't have the confidence to say that I'll be able to gather myself together again.

(No wonder I'm scared shitless.)

* * *

I smirk at Will, who sits at my feet. He's flushed red in the heat, groaning loudly, “An' y'all're sayin' it's hot here! Y'all should...y'all...Texas.” I kick his water bottle towards him, shaking my head, “Coherent, cowboy.” Reyna licks a popsicle at the window, Jason whining about the heat. She shares a look with me, smirking. I roll my eyes at her, “Drama queens.” Lou's over with Cecil under the trees, cackling when he slumps over.

Percy strolls from the opening of the parking lot, like everyday, a little late due to his detour at the cafeteria. In his arms is four water bottles and a blue popsicle. I wonder how much that cost him. He grins, “God, the weather's great!” For once, the sky wasn't red. Just blues and the blistering sun. He's right; the weather's great. If we're trying to melt two blonds and a pothead. Which I am, I dunno about the ladies.

I wave, “I know; we're gonna have roast blond on the barbecue at this rate.” Jason scowls at me, “I'd be offended that you're saying you're gonna eat me, but at this point, I think that's better than dealing with this douche.” He jerks a thumb skyward. I snicker.

Reyna pecks his cheek, “Relax, Jay,” She mutters, “We're going to be surrounded by sweaty teenagers and a bonfire tomorrow night; enjoy it while you can.” Will sighs against my knee, “But we already are surrounded by sweaty teens: us.”

Percy comes to sit on my other side, against the cool wall. He holds up a bottle to me, and passes another one to Jason. He guzzles half of it, pants, and then tries to drown himself in the other half, only for Reyna to gently take it from him. I grab mine, and lurch as I throw it at Lou. It hits her square in the face, and I laugh loudly. (I'm ignoring the guilt, you see, she's already dealing with stuff, and here I am being mean. Ignorance is key, here.)

Percy sips leisurely, and cranes his neck to look at me. I blink down at him, raising my eyebrow. He smiles, and holds up his other bottle. I roll my eyes, and push it back at him. He furrows his eyebrows, nudging my knee with it. Will clicks my foot, “Y'all stay hydrated.” I grumble at him, “I'm fine.”

Percy hits my knee, “Drink.” I bat his hand away, “No.” And suddenly I'm on my ass, head knocked against the wall as Will and Percy both tug my feet from beneath me. Reyna chuckles at their antics, “Drink up, buttercup.” I flip her off, “Go fuck yourself.” She flips her hair at me, “I'd rather fuck Jason, but Mr Wait Til We're Legal In India says otherwise.”

Will wrinkles his nose, “TMI, Rey.”

She shrugs. Percy stretches, then mashes his face into my shoulder, “I didn't need to know any of that.” Then he squints at Jason, “What's the age there? Like, twenty-five?” Jason rolls his eyes, “Eighteen, actually. I think that's perfectly reasonable.” Percy makes a humming sound, then cocks his head, “But we're all like seventeen, right? Or some of us.” He glances at Lou and Will, “So consent and above. We're in California, in the greatest country in the world, so like. Just give the lady her fuck, dude.” Reyna nods, “Exactly.”

I stand up, and quietly walk over around the corner to where the starts of the school field start. I crawl under one of the closest bleachers, ignoring the chatter above me. I stretch as much as I can, before laying on my back. Hearing footsteps, I glance over to see Percy crouching down beside me. I raise an eyebrow. He cocks his head, smiling at me, “You not into talking sex?”

Scrunching my nose, I curl up a little. He rests on his knees, “Are you...uh, y'know...” I raise an eyebrow, “Asexual?” He nods, clicking his fingers, “Is that what's up?” I snort, smirking at him, “Dude, I'm a horny teenage boy that loves the idea of sex as much as the next. I just...don't...” Why am I going into this. Why am I telling him this. Goddammit Nico. “It's just...the whole...hetero part.” Because nobody likes hearing about your sis talking about heterosexual sex when they themselves are homosexual.

Percy blinks, then eloquently says, “Oooh, okay. That makes sense.” And then proceeds to sit criss-cross-applesauce like nothing was out of the ordinary and grins, “Don't worry, I'm in the same boat. Sorta why I followed you.” I hum, sitting up, “Oh yeah?” He nods.

I pull out a cigarette, lighting it,”She talks about it for kicks; she didn't mean to upset you or anything. It's me she's trying to piss of.” Too much like Bianca in that sense, but I can't just stop loving her. Percy doesn't question it, chuckling. He sneaks my cigarette from my fingers, taking a hit before handing it back to me. I scowl at him, “How dare you.” He just breathes it back in my face, “You love me really.” ~~I really do~~. Instead of answering, I just lean back against – shit.

Somebody's feet, shit shit. I forgot we were sitting under the bleachers. The person in question peers down at me, confused. I stare blankly back at him, carefully taking a hit from my cigarette. It's one of the quarter backs, but when he looks like he's going to growl out something threatening, his eyes widen at the sight of us and he quickly returns to sitting. I grin at Percy. He gives a befuddled look to the jock, before humming.

I stretch, sigh, and hum, “They'll be done by now,” I tell him. He nods, and I think he looks disappointed, but then again we're in the shade and it's particularly hot today. Percy follows me, and we circuit back around the corner of the school.

We're welcomed with smirks, and Lou waggles her eyebrows from her place beside #1 Pothead in Riverside, CA under the shade, “Have a good fuck?” I nod, smirking, “Don't you know it – Percy's got a dick bigger than a black guy.”

Kid in question splutters, flustered, before he just resolves to pleading skyward as if any competent god resides up there. Reyna scrunches her nose, “Gross. TMI.” I shoot her a look, “Fucking hypocrite.” I return to my spot at the wall, Percy beside me. I raise an eyebrow at his regarding expression. Though flushed pink, and green eyes filled with something I don't understand. He hums, and smiles at me sweetly, “You're perfect.”

I don't know what he means by that.

It does something to my stomach.

* * *

There's a rift between a mother and son when she names him with empty eyes and a hopeless stare that can only tell that she already knows her son is destined for nothing.

When she says his name so blankly, vacantly, it's expected that some distance will be slotted between them like a brick wall. It's expected that she favors the daughter more, old enough to understand that she will be the one to carry the idealization of _Golden Child_. Favor turns into blatant ignorance of the son, daughter mothered and encouraged to blossom into something great. Son left in the shadow of a scary man who deals with death and disaster.

And, it is to be expected, that if daughter follows mother, that son follow father, correct?

There's something haunting about remembering those moments, when your name was bestowed upon you with broken melodies in her voice and hollow belief in her eyes as she says,

“Niccolo di Angelo.”

The feeling stays with you, you'll learn. That mother's eyes become father's eyes and voice transitioned into this deep, miserable baritone that constantly reminds one that they're a disappointment. And then there's the anger that comes with;

She's a failure too, y'know. She ran away to god knows where and dropped all legacy.

She's as badly fucked up as I am; I watched her shift into this monster.

She's as much as a screwed creature of damnation as I am. I helped her grow claws and fangs.

But nobody sees that, all you see is the blame, anguish, the grim fault that's transitioned to you in hopes of the weight being lifted from burdened shoulders. The feeling stays, you see. When he says, “Nico,” In that tired voice that just holds years of ruin you've caused, the tiredness and weariness that came with putting up with somebody as disappoitning as yourself, it's expected that something _spark_.

**Something.**

**Anything.**

Nothing. Nothing sparks, nothing flares, nothing pushes you to move onward in your life and prove all those motherfuckers wrong. Show that you are made for

**Something.**

**Anything.**

But you're not, and you know you're not, and that's the fact that drags you down and stops all the potential from seeping through your bones to the surface. There's a ton or a thousand that settle on your shoulders, the vertigo that comes with your heart sinking past your feet into the concrete you've known since you were young.

And it's sad. So sad, a miserable, helpless sort of feeling; like being the one prideful man on a sinking ship. You believe that you must take your death with stride, to keep your dignity and your pride, even til death do you part, despite the fact that both dignity and pride are no longer idealizations or possibilities in your empty and aching body.

So no, when you think back to the evocative stare she gave you when she named you, you can't just push past it and believe that you are made for great things. Not when your sister's gone and your brother's a faceless picture on the wall, and your baby sister's believing in you with all her little heart – it's not enough, it's never enough, I'm sorry Hazel. You're stuck in the numb limbo of being alive and slowly dying from self loathing.

You're not made for

**Something.**

**Anything.**

Trust me, we're all made that way. Useless atoms and cells structures into the melancholy host you've taken form as. I know that's where I am in my life. I'll probably never leave this state. A looming depression, professionals said, before I stopped going.

I wonder if the depression has stopped looming, and has simply stopped.

* * *

“Being dead wouldn't be so bad,” I muse. Will blinks widely at me, along with Lou and Percy, all three panicked at my statement. I don't look at any of them.

Lou quickly dismisses the comment, returning to drawing crude images in the mud. I kick loose rocks around the bench, shrugging when Will asks if I need to talk to somebody. I quickly look up, grinning at them all, “Sorry; been reading up on some deep shit lately.” Lies, lies; I haven't read deeply since Freshman Year. Will picks up on this, but wisely remains silent. Percy, to my right, continues to give me a worried look.

He buys me a drink later, when Will went to the bathroom and Lou stalked up to the front of McDonald's and started reciting our orders. He touched my arm tenderly, worrying at his lip, “Seriously, if there's somebody you need to talk to...” I smirk at him cynically, “Why do you even care, Shark Bait? It was just a statement. I'm not gonna jump of Jersey Bridege or some shit.”

Dubious, he squeezes my shoulder, “Still. That was a pretty lame excuse you used, though.” I shrug, scratching my neck, “Yeah well, I don't bother trying to bullshit people who know me too well.” They don't know me at all. I'm fine with it that way. His hand moves from my arm to my back, a trail of fire left in his wake, “Good.” Is all he sighs.

And then Lou returns with a whoop, falling into the booth across from us. The moment's broken; I'm able to breathe, I can think straight. I don't know if I'm happy with that or not. Then again, it doesn't really matter when he peers down at me with a reassuring smile.

He's starting to form fangs in his smile, even if he doesn't see it. It's oddly attractive.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> With Nico's POV, I'll be filling in Wednesday and Thursday from pre Bonfire Beach Bust, where Percy's POV skipped over them to Friday. There will be more missed days from Percy's perspective, simply so I'm not just recapping everything every five chapters from a different view point - it just makes it more interesting for me to write, because copying lines word for word is frustrating, but I hope it also gives you guys something to look forward to, instead of the same shit over again. However, there _will_ be parts of previous adventures with them, simply for the fact that it _did **indeed**_ happen, therefore being mentioned. If this confuses anybody, let me know, and I'll try and explain it better.


	11. Monday Mistakes' Marks

_"He had pretty eyes and a silver tongue,_  
_he smelled of fire and kissed like rain;_  
_she had nowhere to run._  
_Oh...he was a dangerous one."_

-N.R.Hart

*

**CHAPTER ELEVEN**

His tears start shifting into an image on the ground between his feet, reflecting the stars above us. A puddle of long-dead galaxies that seeps into the cracks in the asphalt. They get blotted out, one by one. 

Hearing a crumbling sound, I look up to see _Bianca di Angelo's_ grave start to chip and waste away until it was nothing but a cracked stump of marble. The name is a marred - I guess that saying 'chip on the shoulder' is being taken literally.

He sniffles, wipes his eyes, and everything flickered to a park. Colorful scenery, the tinkling laughter of kids giggling despite no children around. In fact, the entire scene is void of anybody but us. Vacant.

He flicks a cigarette at me, chuckling wryly, “What's got you so shaken, Shark Bait?” I take the cigarette, tentatively taking a hit. I look around in what must like wonder, but is more like disorientation, “Everything just changed.” He hums,

“Everything changes.” 

* * *

“I don't get why you didn't let me see these sooner,” I tell Nico. He shifts, shrugging a little stiffly as he tugs a shirt over his head; yesterday's shirt. I turn the page of his sketchbook, greeted with another picture. A spindly boy flat on his back as a bunch of familiar looking figures trample all over him. A tall man stands by his head, sneering down at him whilst the boy has a cigarette between each finger, along with one in his mouth. In fact, if I look closer, cigarette packs and sticks of gum are all around him. It's beautiful, sadly.

Nico runs a hand through his hair, wriggling his toes in his socks, “I just...don't really care about it, I guess.” I hum ,”What I'm hearing is that you don't have enough confidence.” He snorts, throwing an eraser at me, “I have confidence, just in more relevant things.” I raise an eyebrow, “Such as...?” He shrugs, dumping a pair of dark jeans in my lap, along with a dark blue shirt. It has a fish skeleton on it, and it's far too big for him. (I'm starting to wonder if he's specifically buying them too big to get the satisfaction of me wearing his clothing.)

Sighing, I settle the sketchbook to the side as I get changed. Finally, he answers, “Being a prick to teachers, one-upping Tanaka, etcetera.” I glare at him exasperatedly, “Seriously?” He nods, solemn, “Would I lie to you?” I scrutinize him, tugging the shirt over my head, “Well...that's up for debate.” He gasps, hand on his chest, “Percy! I thought we had an agreement -” I shut him up with a kiss, toeing into his spare boots. He chuckles against me, raising an eyebrow, “Buttering up your boyfriend, now, huh?” I smirk at him. _Boyfriend_ – he said he's my _boyfriend._

“Maybe,” I tease, smirking wider, but I eventually just roll over onto him when he pouts at me. (His fucking pout is so dangerous, just one look and I'll do anything.) He groans under my weight, but I just chuckle, “What? Huh? Something wrong, Ghost King?” He scowls up at me, before dissolving into soft laughter, “Not when I have a hot piece of ass grinding down on me.” I blink, before ~~squealing~~ ~~shrieking~~ ~~blushing~~ sighing and rolling off of him. Nico snickers, waggling his eyebrows, “Not that I don't love the action, doll,” He slicks on a 1980's New York accent. I whack his arm, huffing – the heat to my face isn't helping much. Continuing, he sits up, “We've got school to attend to. Maybe,” He grins, “We can continue this...later.” I scoff, “Like hell we will. C'mon,” I tug him over to his bag, then to the door, “We gotta go get Hazel, right?” He nods.

Hazel's already packed and ready to go when we get down stairs. She rolls her eyes, shaking her head, “C'mon, guys! We gotta go!” Her small hands grab ours, and she's tugging us out the door, “I've got a fun project today! I don't wanna be late!” Nico raises an eyebrow, “Do you mean you have a project with _Frank_ today?” She stutters and blooms pink. Nico smirks.

I chuckle, shoving him lightly, “You bully.” He shrugs, as Hazel whines, “How did you knooooow?” Ruffling her hair, Nico answers, “A brother knows everything.” To which I raise a dubious eyebrow. He just grins at me silently.

* * *

“How do you think the world will end?” Lou asks across the desk separating her from Nico, which was Will's desk. I sit in front of Nico, with Cecil beside me. The green-haired girl has curious mischief lacing her grin. I'm surprised that nobody was discussing yesterday. I'm sure as hell not gonna bring it up.

Cecil snorts, fiddling with a mess of pens before him, “With a bang, maybe. Or – or something that'll be Trump's fault by default.” Will leans forward and flicks his head, “Shut it, you. Don't y'all get all political on this. We agreed that nobody messes with them politics. We're all too dumb.” The blond chuckles a little, before leaning back and chewing Lou's question thoughtfully, “I reckon the world will end suddenly. Maybe one of those science labs down in nowhere will screw up big time; release an incurable virus, maybe. Like in the movies.”

Lou accepts his answer, nodding approvingly, “A very plausible theory, sunshine.” She then looks to me, quirking an eyebrow, “What about you, Shark Bait? Any particular ways on how the world will damn us?” _It's already damned us_ , I want to say, in a very Nico-esque manner, but I bite my tongue. I have a feeling they wouldn't appreciate that, oddly.

I sit back, throwing my legs up to rest on the backrest of Cecil's chair, leaning against the wall, “I dunno. Maybe with some military malfunction. Like, an experimental bomb goes off and wipes out America. Something like that.” Lou snickers, reaching over to bump my fist - “That's my favorite so far.” I nod, smirking at the plump girl.

Everybody turns to Nico, watching him expectantly. The boy hums contemplatively, before sighing, “Quietly.” Lou makes an intelligent _huh?_ sound, lip curled a little at his vague answer. “Slowly, a build up of multiple processes that don't appear to be an apparent problem, until they snowball. And everything is gone. We'll slowly dwindle as a species in _silence_. Nobody will realize until it's too late, and by then? Irreversible mistakes will come and bite us in the ass.”

His gaze doesn't move from his little doodles all over his notes, in the way he never looks up or breaks focus. I love that about him, and smile when I through an eraser at his head. It bounces away. Will blinks at him, mulling over his words. Lou lets out a huff, “Dammit, you always gotta pull your psyche card, dontcha?” Nico nods, his face splitting into a conniving grin, “It's what lets me win.” She grumbles to herself as she rummages in her bag. She slaps a lollipop into his hand huffily.

He unwraps it calmly, sticking it in his mouth. I lean on the backrest of my chair, smiling at him. He grins back at me. Will reaches over and ruffles his hair, “You just described nowadays.” Nico nodded, “Essentially.” Cecil snorts a little, “So did I.” Lou kicks his chair, “No you didn't. You said our president would fuck shit up bad.” His curls bounce as he nods, “So the present day.” Lou sighs, exasperated, “Yeah, but he's not a snowballing problem, is he? He's just a fucking douche.” My head hurts from politic-talk.

Nico gives me an amused look, about to open his mouth -

A paper ball smacks him in the face. I hold back a laugh.

He grumbles, glaring at the direction it came from, seemingly already aware of who threw it. He unravels the ball anyways, and stares emptily at the curly, squiggly writing in pink. Will leans over, humming, “Tanaka's writin'.” Nico nods, running a hand through his hair. I remember, I still have his green sheet at the back of my text book. I pull it out, and slide it to him wordlessly. He scowls at it, before slapping it over the notes.

“You act...really tough, but...really, you're just...a sad looser with daddy...issues. Maybe if...you kill yourself...he'll be proud.” Nico jutters out. He leans back, nodding thoughtfully. “I mean -” He snickers, moving his hands to cup over his mouth, “You're not wrong, I'll give you that, bitch. But then again,” He pauses, ignoring the irritated look that Mr Brunner sends him from the board. “I could easily say you're a sad looser that has _mommy_ issues. Try slitting your wrists and see if your mommy will kiss it better! Learn better insults, while you're at it.”

“Mr di Angelo, sit down – we _do not_ use such language in this school, nor will such behavior be tolerated,” The man glances between Drew and Nico, “The pair of you. I feel like phone calls will be sent home for this appalling behavior.” The class was quiet. Then, simultaneously, they shrug,

“You can try; doubt anybody will care.”

I feel sort of sad at that revelation. Not only for Nico, but for Drew, in an ugly, uncomfortable way. They both have elements of common ground – they're both aware of it, yet...they exploit it to hurt each other instead of use the opportunity to support each through it. I gently tug Nico's sleeve, and he sits down. Mutters break out around us, of the other students. Like they always do when something happens.

Mr Brunner sighs heavily, running a hand through his hair, “I want both of your lunch periods in my office, Ms Tanaka, Mr di Angelo.” Nico doesn't reply. Drew's sickly sweet voice trickles from the front, “Oh, you don't honestly want to give me detention, do you?” It's like a hypnotizing snake trying to lure prey into the den. Mr Brunner is having none of it, “You will not charm your way out of this, Drew.” She remains silent after that.

Will is giving Nico an exasperated look, disappointed and just done with everything. Lou is pointedly not looking at him, which is an odd development, and Cecil simply continues to play with his pens on his desk.

“Now, let's continue class without any _further_ interruptions, shall we?”

Nico isn't _sulking_ per say, but...no, not brooding, either. I don't really know what he's doing, but it's not moody or huffy. Just...quiet, obediently reserved. I nudge his foot under the table, as I have yet to turn back and face the front. He glances at me, raising an eyebrow. I whisper, “You going to that detention?”

He's fidgety; tapping his foot quickly under the desk. His hands do knots into themselves, and come undone with ever flex, “Yes.” I blink at him in surprise, “Really?” He nods, nods again, grits his teeth and glares out the window, “I've ignored the other four. One more time and I'm booted out for three weeks.” I raise an eyebrow, “Seriously?” He nods, “Major things – getting detention with the principal. I...I don't want them to call my dad again.”

Oh. That...makes more sense.

I smile encouragingly at him, “It can't be that bad, right?” Nico doesn't answer me. I watch him play with his lighter in his pocket. Another paper ball arks across the room, and he catches it before it hits him. Scowling, Nico flips Tanaka off, but for some reason, still opens it. (And then I decide I'm stupid: of course he's going to open it. It's an excuse to blow off steam. That, and, Brunner will tell them off again, and it boosts his rushes.)

He whispers out the cursive writing, green sheet twitching across the paper. Will and Lou listen in, intrigued. “You're an asshole,” He smirks, “Nobody likes you...y'know. They're friends with you...because they're scared.” Nico glances at the three of them briefly, almost unnoticeable, and his gaze lingers on me a little longer.

I don't know how to respond, maybe I should've shaken my head or told him it wasn't true. Because now, his face is deadly blank as he continues to read, no longer searching my eyes with worry.

“You're destined to be...alone. Fucking retard, you think you're...so cool? Wrong. So wrong - “ He sighs heavily and crumples up the paper, “Fuck that shit.” He tosses it carelessly out the window. A hiss carries across the room.

Nico stands up, grabs his backpack and slings it over his shoulder, and strolls to the door. Mr Brunner clears his throat loudly, “Did I dismiss you, Nico? I don't believe I did.” Nico shrugs, stopping before he grabs the handle, “I mean, no, but I couldn't give a fuck about whatever spiel you're blabbing, so...” He shrugs, and stalks out the door.

Nobody makes a move to go after him. Which, hah, it surprises me – maybe Lou or Will, more likely Cecil, would've gone after him. Gone and snickered about how much of a dick the teacher is or something, possibly.

But nobody makes a sound.

I'm reminded of our conversation prior; the world ending in _silence_. It feels a lot like that right now.

So I take it upon myself to stand, bag my items on my desk, and make a start for the door. Mr Brunner gives me a bewildered look, “Mr Jackson, go sit down. Don't be foolish, now.” I ignore him, weaving through desks to reach the door.

“Percy, you're not seriously going after him -” A girl hisses to me as I pass. I don't know how she knows my name, but I fix her with a serious look, before continuing. Mr Brunner clears his throat again, “Mr Jackson, I repeat: go sit down.”

I open the door, and find Nico leaning against the lockers further down the hall. A hand on the wall, the other in his hair. He looks like he wants to punch something. I steadily stride down to him, fully aware of the door opening behind me, a wheelchair trying to fit through the door. I'm less aware of Mr Brunner's voice calling to me, trying to coax me back to class.

To be honest, I'm not entirely sure about what I plan to do. Get to Nico, help him with whatever he's struggling with...then...uh. Hm. That's about as far as my plan gets. “Mr Jackson, Mr di Angelo, return to class, now.” Our teacher tries to order.

I, however, just sit by Nico's feet and wait for him to slide down beside me. “What are you doing, the pair of you? Come back to the classroom.” Nico draws his knees to his chest, fists in his hair. Putting an arm around his shoulders, I lean into him as much as he is to me, which is a lot. “What's up?” I ask quietly. Glancing over my shoulder, Mr Brunner's still trapped in the doorway, a few students crowding behind him to pull him back into the classroom, rather than out. They seem to be perceptive enough to understand that whatever is going down is important. That, or they're scared of the repercussions Nico will give them for letting the teacher loose on his tail.

Nico shakes his head, either way, “Just...angry. Wanna punch something.” I nod, humming, “Understandable. You got any smokes on you?” Those usually calm him down. I know better than to ask _why_ he's angry, because what's likely is that he doesn't fucking know, which will frustrate him further.

Not to my shock, he pulls out a box of cigarettes and lights one swiftly. We're in the middle of the corridor, but I find no issue with that right now. There's some kerfuffle, a few gasps as Nico takes a hit and breathes it out. I watch tension drain from him with that one, long puff that burns the cigarette to three-quarters ash. He glances at me, and I smile quietly. He drops his gaze, looking...shameful. Abashed, conflicted. “Sorry,” He mutters. I shake my head, “Nah. C'mon, let's bounce. Go somewhere quiet?”

Nico chews the idea in his head, before humming, “Yeah. I've got some art project to work on, anyways.” I raise an eyebrow, taking the hand offered down to me. My boyfriend tugs me up with ease, “Oh yeah? What sorta project?” Nico shrugs, squashes his cigarette under his sneakers, “Some watercolor. Gonna fail it, but whatever. Painting's not my thing.” I grin at him, “No? What is _your thing_ then, huh? I though deep, soulful paintings were your shit.”

He shakes his head, “I like drawing miserable princes getting pecked apart by crows.” it's uncanny, how similar that statement is to his sketchbook.

“Where do you two think you're going? Get back here, now!” We turn, to find Mr Brunner wheeling towards us, flustered and angry. Nico stops casually, brushing ash from his jeans, “Sup, Brunner?” The bearded man glared with discomposure at Nico, before giving me a befuddled look, “I've never pegged you to be a...troubled student, Percy,” He stays, eerily steady.

I feel confronted. Discreetly, I hold Nico's hand behind his back, squeezing his hand to ground him. Shrugging, I run a hand through my hair, “Not troubled. Just...” I don't know, not really. Just letting Nico drag me along, because that's all I really want to do. I'd let him drag me through hell and still find it better than being away from him. Mr Brunner frowns, gazing at Nico, but his statement is still directed at me, “I see Mr di Angelo here has rubbed off on you, unfortunately.”

Shaking my head, I feel the need to defend my boyfriend, “Au contraire, sir. I was like this back in New York; not the best role model student.” He eyes me, as if I'm lying, when – okay, it wasn't as bad as _this_ , but I was still a shitty student (probably why I find acts like this so easy to commit.) He lets out a sigh, “You didn't strike me as such, Percy.” Nico shuffles beside me, wanting to leave.

Shrugging, “Well, too bad. Should've done a better background search. Later sir,” I move and let Nico pull me to the doors. What's strange is that despite all the fuss Mr Brunner made, he lets us just walk out the doors. I feel empty accomplishment settle on my shoulders.

Nico drinks up the fresh air like a man in the desert drinking water.

Me, on the other hand, I just...walked, linked our hands loosely as we leave the grounds. Curious, I ask, “Was he always like that? When you were in Freshman Year, I mean.” I ask, because surely, Mr Brunner can't simply be as strung along or as all over the place as he is now. Nico hums, shrugging, “He was pretty chill, why?” I shrug, “No, I mean like – when you were...you, I guess. When you fucked up his classes, did he just let you off with a warning? Or, like...what?”

Nico fixes me with a scrutinizing look, “You're confused.” He states. I nod, looking over my shoulder, “Yeah; he yells at you, threatens to call your dad and all that shit – and then...he just. He just.” I flail my hands a little, bewildered. I'll admit, he's gotten under my skin. Very easily.

The crow eyed boy smirks at me, “He still thinks _this_ ,” He gestures to all of me – my dark tank-top and my threadbare jeans, the wristbands and the entirety of _me_ , “is all _my_ doing.” I raise an eyebrow, “But why? Nothing has pointed him in that direction.”

We pass the gates, Nico stretching in a way that makes his spine crackle, like he's embracing the freedom at his fingertips despite the evident lack of it. “People...they're easy to rail and derail, string them along a certain train of thought, and it's just all...very malleable,” He tells me, humming.

The sky's a pale, pastel shade of pink, and it made sense, considering the day has barely made it through to first period. “Malleable how?” I ask, nostalgia hitting me like a truck. Nico shrugs, “Whatever makes them break.” A rock settles in my gut, but I pay no mind.

(“Alive how?” I'll ask, to which she'll shrug, “Whatever makes them feel a rush.”)

“Well, whatever,” Nico hums, kicking stones as we stroll aimlessly, “People like that are too many in a population; weak links.” I raise in eyebrow, but don't say anything. Then he snorts, bemused, “I suppose that's everybody then.” Our hands brush, and I lace our fingers, “Everybody is breakable, Nico.” I tell him. He nods, “And everybody only has a certain extent as to where their independence will take them.” As he finished, there's a loud whoop, and the grind of skateboards on the curb.

I quickly drop out hands, and feel guilty when Nico's lips twitch. His hands move to stuff themselves in his pockets. Before I can say anything, Lou and Cecil are flanking us on their boards, whilst Will pants to a sluggish pace behind us, “Y'all better buy me a freakin' board for – for...my...for my birthday.” Nico chuckles, “I'll be sure to add that to my list.”

I look back, and grin at the cherry-faced cowboy, and he fathoms a smile back at me. A ray of sunshine. I don't see the anxiety thrumming to life in his nerves anymore, or the way the worry made his hands shake, like I had on Monday. Lou's far more confident than she'd been, bumping her hip with Nico's and shoving him around a little playfully. And Cecil just swerved up ahead on the empty streets. They were always empty.

Everything felt right. It was fine, everything was intact and in place: everything was okay.

A weightless sort of sensation filled me, like stuffing cotton into a bear. Like I'm bathing in lukewarm water, the ripples of the water over my skin soothing and addictive; stress free and _good_. When Lou shouts, “Junkyard! Junkard!” And goads Cecil to chant with her, I'm content to cheer with them, until Will relents and hops onto the back of Lou's board. They whizz off ahead, loud shrieks and echoes of joy that feel like a refreshing splash of water to the face. I haven't heard this since last Friday – all of us together, racing along to the beat of our hearts.

Nico grabs my hand, tugging me along as he grins wolfishly (there it is, there's that beautiful smile; I didn't know I've been missing that so greatly.) We race after the trio, easily keeping up with them on our long legs. My feet fall in time with my pulse – _thump, thump, thump_ – and it's wonderful to feel this again.

Lou's hair is a blur of green, whipping behind her as she swerved around a streetlight, holding her hands up in the rock symbol, “Fuck yeah! Fuck the school!” She starts. Cecil holds up his joint, laughing almost drunkenly in the way that is so characteristic of him that I'd be scared if he were to sound sober, “Fuck the teachers! They don't know us!”

I glance to Will, who's clinging to Lou's waist with fear in his eyes, but a grin's smattered to his face, and the sun catches his hair in the best way. Then I turn to Nico, who detached himself from my hand to hurdle over a public bench situated near a bus stop, “Fuck the system!” He chirps, landing with a thud beside me but never once breaking stride. He gets a few whoops in agreement.

We must look insane, is all I can think. I don't find myself worrying about whether the thought is true or not, like I would've done only a week ago. I run a hand through my hair, laughing when I find four pairs of eyes looking at me expectantly, “Fuck the authorities. They don't control us!” The response is deafening, but...homely, it's like being accepted into the pack all over again. Nico's knowing eyes bore into me, that smirk plastered to his face. Admiration, in its quietest form. Begrudging acceptance. Love.

My face blooms with heat. My cheeks ache with my smile. My eyes water with the wind.

My lungs are raw with the harsh, quick respiration I'm producing, and while my heart hammers against my ribs, I wouldn't change it for anything. There's a gratuitous satisfaction that comes with Nico simply smiling at me.

* * *

“All I'm saying is that you should hit Octavian up at some point,” Cecil slurs quietly, his face planted firmly against Will's thigh. Nico hums, examining his fingers disatstefully, “I got you some shit last week, 'Cil, and you still owe me the fireworks to pay him off with, jackass. Without that, I'm getting zilch.” Will carefully tugs the knots out of Cecil's dark curls, huffing, “I told y'all that shit is bad; hell, I'd rather you smoke cancer-sticks than those Mary Jane joints.”

Lou snorted, kicky-upping an empty bottle, “Like hell's that gonna happen – poor baby's addicted,” She pouted the last bit, sneering at Cecil afterward in a cruelly joyful manner. I lean against the bonnet of a rusted car, drumming the metal under my fingers. It used to be blue – a buggy sort of car. Nico sat in the driver's seat of it, one foot propped on the dashboard whilst the other leaned against the wheel. I want him to lay on the roof with me, count the stars til we can't and stay a little longer.

But for now, he picks at the frayed seams of the seats and smokes a cigarette. The front doors are missing, and the trunk's top, too. It's authentic, in an odd way. Really fits in with its surroundings. An old bookshelf is propped up against one side of it, the rest of the car half-buried in a mountain of old junk.

I smile at him through the broken windscreen. He smirks at me, letting me swipe a cigarette from his pack. I puff quickly – three consecutive hits that clog the air. I don't smoke as gracefully as Nico does, or as excessively as Cecil does. I still cough a little sometimes, and no, the smoke isn't a languid thread in the air like Cecil makes it burn, or a billowing craze of mindless gray-blue like Nico so heavily breathes out. It's just how I do it. I like it that way.

Will says something about how this place was destine for rot, and Cecil slurs an agreement; mellow and malleable as always. _Malleable_. I glance around at this squad I've inserted myself into: a clusterfuck of anxiety, peer pressure, sleep deprivation and an eagerness to ruin everything before their lives end in whatever abrupt way they believe will happen. Nico climbs through the windscreen, coming to perch beside me, “Careful,” He murmurs, “You'll evaporate the Styx with your glare.” I blink, away from the starts of the slick river, and wince, “Sorry, just thinking.” And then, “I know, I know – don't hurt myself, and my head's too full of seaweed to think straight.”

Everybody blinks at me oddly.

And then a chill rolls down my spine like ooze dripping from something above. “The fuck are you talking about, Shark Bait? None of us said that.” I wring my hands out, my shoulders tense, “Uh – shit, just...uh, a – it's a thing my old...friends used to...to say.” Nico cocks his head, before reaching up and carding fingers through my hair, “I don't think you'll hurt yourself,” He starts, “I think you're pretty smart. And it's physically impossible to have seaweed in your brain without dying. So, that's that.” Nico mutters. Lou snorts, “True that.”

Cecil raises his joint in a mock toast, “Second that.” Will nods at me, “Whoever said that? They've gotta mouth too big for their face.” I laugh at them, unconsciously leaning into Nico a little bit. “Thanks guys.” Nico nods at me, closing his eyes as he sprawls across my legs, “Don't let nobody screw you over with _words_ , Percy.” I nod, taking it to heart, “Wont happen again, I promise.” 

* * *

“Wh-What're...ugh, whatever.” Cecil yawns, twisting in the back seats of the buggy car. Nico's moved from the driver's seat to spread starfish on the clearing in the middle of it all. Will sat on the fallen log, Lou balancing along the pipes that burrow through all the junk and under the Styx to the other side of the junkyard. I remain beside Will, peering at the scene Lou had created earlier.

Nico was surrounded in shards of different colored glass, all from shattered bottles. It resembled a scene from Suicide Squad with the Joker, but...instead of smiling and writhing in the mess of sharp edges, Nico remain still and slack. He looked like he might just doze in the sun, akin to a cat in languidity. I want to take a picture, maybe, or sit beside him. Feel the dangerous prick of those sharp edges against my skin, the pressure almost enough for it to slice, but the jolting thrill of knowing it _wont_ , and feeling invincible with him because of it.

If only I have the invincible attitude Nico launders everywhere.

He blinks up at me, ignoring the jabber that Lou continues to spout to fill the silence that seemingly terrifies her, with Will chiming in every few minutes. It's like it's just _me, only me_ that he sees. There's an inquisitive light to his eyes, as if he's asking _why_ _ **aren't**_ _you on these glass shards with me?_

To that, I have no idea. But...I'm stuck to the fallen tree I sit on.

Nico quickly looses interest, and starts picking and shifting around the glass until it resembled...wings. I don't think he realized that, since he was just moving his arms and legs back and forth in the fashion one would make a snow angel. But...he was left with a pair of wings. I see red start to welt around his hands, where he undoubtedly got a few cuts. Will's tittering to him within seconds, trying to lure Nico from his deathtrap of glass bottles. I smirk quietly, before simply stating,

“Nico, come here.”

He's beside me immediately, and I feel _sorta_ bad for using his (cough – kink – cough) against him. But it's funny. And adorable, endearing, even. Will and Lou blink owlishly at me, to which I shrug and gently take Nico's hands into my own. Nico scuffles around, squirming and trying to be a general nuisance so I don't mother too much over him, to which I huff, “Stay still.” He complies after a five second delay.

I lean back a little, for Will to see, “Y'think he'll need anything?” I get no response for a space of ten seconds, before the blond coughs into his fist and does a quick once-over on the damage. It's not that bad, if I give my unprofessional opinion. Nico voices his own similar thoughts. “He'll be...fine,” Will mutters eventually.

I thought so. The marks are similar to the paper cuts he had over the weekend from creating origami shapes for Hazel. Nothing too dire. “What. The. _Fuck_ ,” Lou hisses. I raise an eyebrow, fighting a smug beam from my mouth. Nico glares at me discreetly, mouthing, “I hate you.” More so saying it under his breath than actual mouthing. I carefully squeeze his hand sweetly before pulling away, “What?”

Her moss-green eyes shift from me to him, then back, “Since when the fuck was Nico your goddamn dog?” Nico snarls at her defensively, “Since when the fuck was it your business as to whom I goddamn respond to?” She quickly lets go of the matter, as well as Will. My fun has been spoiled, though I suppose that's a good thing; things would've taken a dangerous turn had Lou continued.

Silence reigns, until Cecil snickers, “Nico's Percy's puppy.” To which all four of us, simultaneously, sigh, “Shut it, Cecil.”

Things soon returned to normal, and Nico glowered at me for a few minutes before sighing and lighting a cigarette. I know I'm forgiven when he offers me one. I take it, smoke it leisurely, and sigh, “I'm bored.” Nico hums, and Lou makes a noise, “What've you got in mind, Shark Bait?” I shrug, “Nothing.” Will punches my shoulder lightly, “We could go back -”

“No.” Lou, Nico and Cecil state. The blond holds up his hands up, “A'ight, a'ight. Fine.” Cecil picks up something and throws it at Lou. It sticks to her forehead. Her eyes are closed, and she scrunches her nose, “'Cil, if this is a fucking snail, I'm gonna kill you.” Nico hums, “Pretty sure it's a slug, actually.” I watch with fascination as her cheeks bloom pink with anger, and she peels the slimy thing from her face and drops it to the floor.

With a huff, she says, “I'll be back.” And trampled through weeds and trash towards the Styx. I snicker, shoving Nico jovially, “Dude – that was _not_ cool.” Nico shrugs, “Just stating facts.” Will runs a hand through his hair, smiling, “Cecil, you're mighty screwed.” He nods from the car, flicking his joint to the ground, “Yeah...I'll be back too.” He squirms out of the car and makes a b-line for the pipes that lead through to the other side of the junkyard. “Hope she don't hear me.” He mutters. Nico kicks a rock towards him, “Will do if you keep grumbling.”

I lean back, before flailing and throwing myself forward. Right; no backrest. Not a chair. My face heats when Will and Nico laugh at me, and I flick ash in their direction, “Shut it.” Then I take a hit. Will stretches, humming to himself. He squints up at the still pale skies, pink and only just starting to burn red nearer to the sun, “Reckon Cecil'll be a'ight?” I shrug, “Who knows.” Nico rolls his eyes, “He'll kill himself by tripping over something. He's too fucking high to see straight.”

This statement is what makes Will stand up and stroll over to the pipes, “I'll go 'n get him, then. See y'all on the flip side.” And then he's gone. Just me and Nico. I smirk at him, “You said that to make him leave, didn't you?” He cracks a grin, batting his eyelashes, “Me? Why, how dare you assume something so rude of me.”

I lean down and catch his lips, and they're bitter like always, and it feels okay. I'm okay; I have my awesome boyfriend, and the world's set back on it's axis. No need for another Mismatched Monday. He finds my hand, laces our fingers, and I lean against him. “Hey,” He whispers. A stupid smile pulls my mouth, “Hey yourself,” I mutter.

He shuffles up to lean his forehead against mine, smirking at my dazed look, “We all know you're _my_ puppy, just saying.” I chuckle at him, nodding, “Of course.” Nico develops a contemplative look, and I goad him to share his thoughts with a nudge to his ribs.

“Are you mad?” He asks.

I blink widely, furrowing my eyebrows, “Why would I be mad?” I don't know why I would be.

Nico pulls back a little, shrugging. He doesn't look _guilty_ , still looking nonchalant and uncaring of my answer, as he sighs, “Well, y'know; ditching school, being a nuisance, that shit.” Shaking my head, I thumb over the minor cuts that are already starting to scab. They tinge pink on his pale skin, and he twitches when my thumb gets caught on one of them. It's cute. “I'll never be mad at you for that. Though...” His expression is raw, fear seeping through, “I'm...disappointed, I think.” His bottom lip's caught in his teeth.

I carefully brush his lip from his teeth, and chuckle, “Just...I think you really could _be something_ , y'know? Not that you aren't already,” I amend, “But...you waste so much talent that could get you places – to find all those _somethings and anythings_ you want. Instead, you just.” I shrug.

When I look back to him, he's no longer scared or nonchalant. He's quietly fuming. I take this moment to realize that I shouldn't have said that, shouldn't have told him that he was wasting his life. That's what all the teachers tell him, what his dad tells him. I've just acted like something he hates.

But instead of lash out at me, he turns away and digs his shoe into the dirt, “Okay. I can live with you being disappointed.” A chill runs down my spine, as he runs a hand through his hair. A sickly sort of grin twists his mouth, wolfish in a more sinister sense than anything I like seeing on him. “Everybody's disappointed in me at one point or another.”

Before I can correct myself – to fix whatever I just fucked up – his phone rings.

He pales at the ID. Whatever negative emotion I saw earlier? It's nothing to what I see now. Pure, unadulterated _fear_ – real fear. As in: _I'm going to die_ sort of terror.

**Personified Neglect is calling you**

I don't know what that entails, until he carefully accepts the call, and Hades' low, dangerous voice rumbles through the phone. “Why aren't you at school, Niccolo?” He replies immediately, easy and flippant – a contrast to the way his eyes widen.

“Because they pissed me off.” A heavy sigh crackles the speaker, “Nico, you can't just leave because some people angered you,” Nico huffs, “I think I'm justified when it's the same shit on repeat, thanks.” I can imagine Hades running a hand down his face, looking worn like he did in the photos upstairs in the di Angelo household. “Go back to school.” He orders steadily. Nico rolls his eyes, “Come find me, and maybe I will.” He smirks; he's far too confident, and I have no idea why. Until: “I don't have the time to play hide and fucking seek, Nico – I'm at work. This is ridiculous; I can't keep getting calls from your school.”

His smirk grows into a pleased smile ( _Yes, it's all according to plan_ , he seems to say,) “And why not? I thought you liked Mr Brunner.” His father mutters something along the lines of, “Yes Charon, I do understand that Mrs Lawson is in need of sterilizing, why the hell don't you get somebody else to do it? I'm clearly busy.” Then he returns back to Nico, “Look, I'm trying to work with you, Nico -”

Nico scoffs, “By telling me that I'm a disappointment and that I'm a waste of space?” Hades is silent, “That was an accident, Nico, you pushed me -”

“ _I_ pushed _you?_ Funny, considering Bianca used to do the same thing and you let her get away with fucking murder.” I raise an eyebrow at Nico, unimpressed by how he's treating this situation. He glares back at me, looking like he might murder _me_ and see if he could get away with it. “That's not true.” Nico rolls his eyes, huffing, “Isn't it? That's why you forgive her for _running away_ and being a bitch before she left, right? Bianca was just _the greatest fucking thing_ -”

“I forgave her because she has more potential than you'll ever have.”

I don't know what to say. Nico seems to, though, as he easily snaps, “Not when she's probably whoring around god knows where to get by,” And I never thought I'd hear such _malice_ come from Nico, despite his character. I worry the others will be back soon. Hades hisses, “Don't you _ever_ say that about Bianca -”

“What? That she's a conniving, backstabbing bitch?”

“No – she wasn't like that and you know it, Nico -”

“I don't think you understand what happened between us, dad -”

“I know enough to know that you started it, Nico, you ruined everything.”

He cackles shrilly, doubling over a little, “Well at least we're on the same page there, huh?” I frown, unsure how to diffuse the situation before anybody comes back. Hades growls, “It's becoming clear that the only option is to send you to a boarding school, Nico.” It's scary how quickly Nico freezes up, voice caught in his throat. I can see it in his eyes: _not again_. Though he's stiff and trembling, he sighs, “What, another Military School? We saw how well that worked out last time, right?” Hades gave a hum, “Well, there's always a second try, then a third before a charm, correct?”

Nico squirms on the log, silently debating his choices. Hades seems to recognize he's got Nico in a tight spot, and I hear the smirk in his voice, “How about you come with me to the principal's meeting tomorrow, Nico? We'll have a long, long discussion on the matter.” There was no room for disagreement. Still, Nico snorts, “Have fun trying, jackass.” And then he hangs up.

He stands, juggling his phone in his hand, before deciding to launch it across the small clearing. It shattered against an old set of office drawers. I wince, and stand behind Nico, about to reach for him, “Who's throwing shit? I wanna join!” Lou yells, leaping over the car. Nico doesn't reply, stalking to his phone and raising his foot. I jog, yanking him back. I pocket his phone and sigh heavily, “Don't do that.” Nico growls at me, hackles raised as he grits his teeth, “I do whatever the fuck I want!”

I pretend it doesn't hurt me that he doesn't seem to recognize me right now. Lou stops a few feet from us, dropping the frog she'd found presumably in the Styx. I square my shoulders, “Nico -”

“What?” He turns from me, kicking the drawers angrily. “Dude – are you...okay?” Lou tentatively questions. Nico rolls his eyes, and suddenly he's not tense, he's not ready to rip somebody's head off, he's not...anything I saw seconds ago.

He smirks at Lou, shrugging loosely, “Yeah, I'm chill. What's up?” She blinks mossy eyes at him, bewildered. Then, she doesn't even question it. She doesn't so much as mention it, just reaching down and recapturing her frog, “Y'think I can make Cecil eat it?” She holds it out to him, proud, like Hazel would a present.

Snickering, Nico nods, “I think you can. You'll have to tell me 'bout it or some shit.” He starts making his way through the junk, through the way we'd gotten here in the first place. She cocks her head, “You bouncing already?” He nods, “I need to raid my dad's liquor cabinet.” She chuckles, rolling her eyes, “You dreadful alcoholic. Sneak me some?” He nods, “Sure.” With that, she crouches by the pipes and screams for Cecil and Will to come back. Nico walks away.

He stops, and blinks at me.

It's another one of those moments. I take it, jogging after him.

Looking over my shoulders, I see that the trio no longer have their eyes on us. I take this chance to slide our palms together, feeling his fingers readily interlock with my own. I want to ask what happened, back in those few seconds prior, but...he's already so calm, his pulse against my wrist forcefully controlled and he seems peaceful again. I don't want to ruin it.

I do anyways, “What was that?” He doesn't reply for a while, just moves so that he's shoulder to shoulder with me as we walk. We make it to the wrought-iron fencing of the junkyard before he finally answers. Even then, it's far from a satisfactory response, “I was angry.” Hooking my feet into the links, I pull myself over the fence. Nico jumps halfway up it before throwing himself over recklessly. I have a feeling this will be just another one of those things about my boyfriend I'll never get a clear explanation of.

The sky's red now, a fiery red that would be fitting for the end of the world, if it were to be a loud scenario. The sun's a smoldering splodge of a deep, charring crimson on the more orangy background. The clouds are still pale; shades of pink and white.

“Very angry,” Nico admits into the silence, “Irrationally angry.” He glances at me, but I see nothing in his eyes that shows that he's sorry, or holding even a ensemble of guilt, “I'm sorry you had to see that.” Something flicks, but it's so quick that I don't know what.

“It's fine,” I tell him, ducking to kiss him again. Hard, rough, quick. I catch his bottom lip between my teeth as I pull away, and he shivers a little.

The moment's ruined by a buzzing in my pocket – I'm not sure whether it's his or my phone, but most likely mine, since there isn't any loud music playing from the device. I pull up my cellphone. It's my dad. I answer it, “Hey dad.”

“Hey champ!” He sounds so happy, and I feel sort of guilty for not being in school right now. He makes my heart stop by saying, “You're not in school right now, are you? Hades just called and said that Nico's not.” I wince, “Uh...no...I – sorry, I'm not in school...” I feel really bad now. Shit. Poseidon chuckles heartily, “Percy, kid, just have fun, and stay safe, okay?” I blink, “You're not mad?” Humming, he shrugs, “No. A little annoyed, but that's not your fault. I gotta go untangle nets and yell at my coworkers for letting bait go overboard, but I'll see you soon, yeah?” I grin, “Okay.” Before he hangs up, he tacks on, “Both of you home by five, please! We're taking everybody out for dinner. Love ya kiddo.” Then the line cuts off.

My heart is very heavy and fuzzy.

Nico's looking at me with a mix of jealousy and acceptance. I don't ask, he doesn't say anything. He sneaks his phone from my pocket, and starts scrolling through his music. I snatch it from him, much to his chagrin and pouting, and I grin, “Let me choose the music, yeah? You always choose songs that make me think too much.” He snickers at me, “But it doesn't make your head hurt, right?” I pause, and realize he's referencing to earlier conversations. I smile at him, “No. Of course not.” He nips my earlobe. It tickles.

(There's a moment where he just cocks his head at me and frowns. I don't say anything.)

The silence is filled with _I'm back in Liverpool and everything seems the same, but I worked something out last night that changed this little boy's brain,_ and I'm drunk on contentment, he's sober with succor.

He takes his phone, and texts somebody whilst the music still plays. His hands leaves mine to wind his arm around my waist, his head leaning on my shoulder. My hand comes to rest on his upper-arm. We walk in sunbathed streets, looking at how everything is blurred and opaque – like a picture, a sequence of fleeting moments that we'll quickly forget. I've never been one to take in details, but I'll never stop taking in the features of his face.

“We're going to McDonald's, c'mon,” He says, “We're meeting up with Jason and Reyna.”

* * *

Nobody talks. Jason and Nico are stuck in a silent staring contest, and Reyna isn't there. I don't know where she is, I think she actually may have ditched. I clear my throat awkwardly, “So...uh, Jason,” He doesn't break contact with Nico, “What's up, bro?”

I fiddle with my napkin, “Where's Reyna?” The blond shrugs, nearly glaring at Nico. The other already was glaring, crow eyes nearing pitch and full of void as he tried to creep under Jason's skin. He was doing a good job, considering the bigger boy was shifting in his seat, concentration astray. “She had a meeting to go to, as one of the schoo's vice presidents.” What he says next is deliberate and near scathing, “Something about a dispute between two students.” Nico shrugs, and sniffs idly, “What of it? Who says it's me?” Jason scowls, “Because it's always you! You and Drew! All the time – and that's not even the icing on the cake, goddammit!”

I shrink back in my chair. I don't know what to do...shit. Shit. People are starting to look at us, Jason's raised voice startling a few of the midday customers.

Nico doesn't look so much as fazed in the face of Jason's electrical blue eyes and the knit between his eyebrows. “Yeah?” He asks, looking genuinely interested and surprised by this fact, “That's a revelation. I'll be sure to improve my attitude, then.” Sarcasm drips from his mouth like black icor, and it's a disgustingly pretty thing to watch.

Jason flexes his fingers, breathing deeply, “Look,” He opens his eyes, seemingly forgetting I'm here, “We'll start a new slate, yeah? Forget about yesterday...maybe you could even come back to school? The pair of you,” He glances at me, finally, “And stay for the rest of the day; go to your classes, hand in assignments.”

My boyfriend smirks cruelly, “Cute. You've known me long enough to know that the rest of that shit wont happen.” He leans back in the booth, “I'm all for turning the other cheek or whatever, but fucking hell are you naïve if you think I'm returning to school, Jay.” Jason doesn't seem surprised, rolling his eyes, “Worth a shot.”

Then Jason stands up, ruffles Nico's hair, and walks from the restaurant. I blink, “What the fuck.” Nico shrugs, “He's gotta have lunch at school; otherwise his dad takes the money Jason didn't use for whatever the fuck he does.” I hum quietly, “Oh.”

“How do you think dinner's gonna go tonight?” He asks.

I shrug, “Probably like hell, knowing you and your dad right now.”

* * *

“I don't wanna.” Nico groans. I snort, rolling my eyes, “Don't wanna what, buddy?” He kicks me lightly; beads, sticks and string along with a mess of tape was a jumbled mess beside him, and he stared at the hook we'd stuck in the center of the sheet metal.

The billboard will forever be a respite place, I find myself musing. Up here, he's so lax and practically a liquid. Though that doesn't exactly sound right, despite that being the most fitting form of matter he seems to be. (“I'm water. I fill out the space given to me, but I don't hold it for long.” )But in my opinion, he's more like gas; the most unstable form of matter, always switching from one thing to the next.

“I don't wanna make a dream catcher anymore.” I snort, rolling my eyes, “No? But you just started.” He huffs, “Wiki-How makes it look easier than it is.” I hold back a laugh. I don't want to know why he's using _Wiki-How_ of all things. “So no dream catcher, then?” He shakes his head, “Nah. We'll get something cooler lookin' up there. Like a picture of Brunner with x's for eyes.” I scrunch my nose, “I don't want to be a fucking suspect if he's to ever go 'missing', Nico.” He shrugs, “Don't worry. You wont.”

He rummages in his pocket, pulls out a lighter and just flicks it on and off for a moment. Then he hums, picking up one of the Popsicle sticks he'd been working with, and sets it on fire. I roll my eyes, “Really? I have an arsonist for a boyfriend.” He sits up, the flame flickering in his eyes – it's a surreal sort of image I'm burning into my brain, something dangerously wild and pretty in a volatile way.

Licking his fingers, he outs the flame and crawls towards me, “Aww, but you loooove me,” He grins. The dark-haired boy nuzzles me, giving me an out of place innocent look. I don't like it on him. I frown, “Not if you keep making that face.” Frowning, he huffs, “Mood killer.” I shrug, “Killjoy.”

He rocks back on his heels, holding out his hands. I grab them, only to be _pulled_ towards him, falling on top of him, “Why Percy,” He grins, waggling his eyebrows, “How bold.” I roll my eyes. Just to shove it back in his face, I nip at his jaw and snap my hips down before getting up.

His face is bright red, nearing purple when I look down at him, the flush spreading to his neck. “Why Nico,” I whisper, “So delectable. I'd pick myself together if I were you, lest somebody be bolder than myself to _take you_.”

Standing in silence, he blinks at me, dumbfounded. I grin at him, “You love me really, c'mon baby, we gotta go.” The blush is easily disappating, but he raises an eyebrow, “ _Baby?_ ” Faltering, I furrow my eyebrows, “Huh?” His teasing smirk comes back as he hopes to the streetlight, “C'mon, sugar, we gotta get moving, right?” _sugar._ I love it.

(It's so fucking endearing. It's like putting sugar in honey, in something already so sweet.) I totally don't drool over his ass as he slides down the streetlight to the sidewalk.

Who am I kidding, we all know I did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sort of thinking about bringing Bianca into this? Like, later, obviously, but...I dunno - I want them to fight, and then end up laughing about it - like Nico had described their relationship in the first place...and, I dunno, maybe have Nico stay in school just because Bianca's there and have him snark to Percy about how bitchy she is and pointing out all the ways she's 'acting' to fit in and whatever, and maybe have her awkwardly interact with Thalia with Nico being there as the annoying third wheel with the gang just to fuck everything up on a Friday Bonfire Night? uggh; I keep thinking about it, and how easily I could fit it in with everything, but I don't know.


	12. Rocky Start To...Something

_"Bonds are something far more precious than the expectations of everything else."_

\- Unknown

*

**CHAPTER TWELVE**

“The grave's gone.” I mutter to him, as we walk away from the cemetery. He shrugs, nonchalant and insouciant, “Perhaps that's a good thing.” And maybe it is, I'll never know - not in the way that he knows, always knows. The omnipotent being he is. 

As if a switch flips, I forget about it as soon as we pass the gates. It's a reoccurring thing, I find. I wonder if anybody else ever experiences that. I quickly forget about that, too. Red skies and cracked sidewalks greet us, and I've never felt more at home.

There are faces waiting for me, smiling, waving. A scene I'm getting used to. They love me, I can feel it; they love me for me all have their own flaws that they're unafraid of. No pressure, no projection of the idealizations of perfection. Only me, and only them, and the common ground between.

Turning to my savior, my friend, a warmth seeps into my bones. His dark eyes, just for a second – a fleeting, isolated moment – were brown; chestnut brown. Bronze, amber, sparkling like slowly-baking sunflower seeds in the sunlight. Full of life.

And then it's gone and I'm getting swallowed by eyes too worn for somebody so fresh.

* * *

“Go get fancied,” He says to me, before jogging off to his bedroom window. I stand still, frowning at his bedroom from my lawn, until I shrug and run a hand through my hair. It's gotta be near five, now; four at the latest. The sky's fallen to its ruddy hues and amber streaks the skyline.

I find myself melancholic at the fact I've forgotten what a New York sunset looks like.

It quickly dissipates when my dad opens the door and grins at me, “Percy! C'mon champ,” He moves from the door, clapping my shoulder as I hop up the porch steps, “We've got some tidying to do 'fore we go out tonight.” I grin at him, “You gonna get fancied up for Mr di Angelo, dad?” I watch him splutter with amusement, his face turning red under the trim stubble he's formed, “I – ohh, quiet, you,” He grumbles, still red in the face and grinning at me. It's a more welcomed sight, now, when I see myself in his eyes and see myself possibly in his shoes maybe five, ten years from now.

(Me and Nico, five, ten years from now.)

Ushering me inside, the pair of us share a look that says _di Angelos, huh?_ I let out a laugh as Tyson tackles my legs, forcing me to fall back against Poseidon. The booming laughter he lets out is something I'll never forget, nor get tired of. It's just...so lively, y'know, something _different_ than the quiet, breathy chuckles my mom used to make. It's better somehow, and it pains me to say it -

Well, no. No, it doesn't. My first and a half week in California has been something eye-opening. I'm loving every moment of it. I'm adoring every friend I make and admiring everything I learn about those people, these people, the ones I've so quickly come to love.

Tyson blinks up at me with his one eye, the other obscured by his hair, “Hey Percy! Percy, we're going to see Hazel and Nico, did you know that? We're going to see Nico and Hazel and daddy's lovely!” Poseidon clears his throat, “Can it, the both of you. I don't need Hades to be catching wind of this; he's my friend before my love interest, and things are tense right now.”

There's something serious in his tone; both me and my little brother take his words seriously, “Yes dad.” We say. Poseidon quickly reels his smile back in, shooing us to the stairs and following, “Ty, you know what to put on, scram.” Tyson blows raspberries before totting off to his room. My dad follows me into mine and glances questioningly at the closet. I shrug, “Go ham; I don't really know what to put on.”

Whilst he laughs under his breath, commenting on the amount of dark clothing I have shoved in there and how Nico probably gave me more than half of it, I gaze out my window.

I see Nico in his room; blinds drawn open and the windows wide. Hazel sits on his bed, in a yellow dress – I can't exactly pick out details here – and something in her head a similar shade. Nico's rifling through his mess of clothing on the floor. Hazel glances up, her brassy eyes finding mine; she grins and winks, sticking her tongue out. She stands on the bed, pointing to Nico's butt as he crawls under the bed. I watch her mouth, “Tap it like you wanna,” before Nico returns.

I wave her off, raising a stern eyebrow at her. The ten year old just smirks knowingly. I can only _imagine_ where she got that look from. Rolling my eyes, I shoo her with my hand before turning to my dad. I get a face-full of button up shirt and dress pants. I didn't even know I had them.

Poseidon hums, “Try them on, tell me what you think,” Then he leaves my room, presumably to his own.

Busying myself with getting changed, I notice that I really haven't worn anything from my old closet. All of it's just accumulated, darker clothing that I've bought from time to time and never worn. Those are the things that catch Nico's eye. The dark tank-tops and stereotypical graphics of _New York_ and the navy jeans. I get it, I think. Subliminal messages, subconscious things he's trying to tell me:

Don't be afraid to show what makes you _you_. It may be behind you, in the past, but it's _yours_. I smile, buttoning up my shirt. It's a little small, so I unbutton the cuffs and roll them up to my sleeves, but leave my shirt untucked. Like hell am I going to walk around like some stiff in front of Nico. My dress pants are pretty much just slacks, except a little less formal and more casual in the sense that they hug my legs a little more. I don't think sneakers will hurt the attire.

I like it: it carries my blue theme. My dad has a pretty good eye for noticing habits and preferences, I think. My shirt's a sea-foam green with white, vertical pin-lines and my pants are a deep, near black indigo. I like it very much. (I don't know that later, Nico will be drooling a little on the way to the restaurant.)

Just to keep it _me_ , I grab one of my small seashell bracelets and tug it on. The small mirror on my closet door grins back at me, as I feel my face stretch. I like it. I really like it. I'm...not too surprised my dad's already got me down cold. He's a lot like me already, or rather, I'm a lot like him, so it leaves little room for error with assumptions. I'm not so unsettled with the fact we have a lot more common ground than I had previously thought anymore. I, in fact, find myself loving the idea.

My father is a good man, I see, past all the things my mother's told me and through all the wool she's pulled over my eyes. He's a very good man with a kind heart and good morals, and, okay, harboring the hots for my friend's dad, but I don't see anything wrong with that.

As I toe on my shoes, which I finally decided would be the boots Nico's lent me, the door gets knocked on. “You dressed, kiddo?” Poseidon calls. I hum, “Yeah, c'min if you want. I'm just gonna try and do something with my hair.” I groan, glaring at it in the mirror.

It's messy and knotted, windswept and just a general mess. No wonder Nico kept snickering at me on the way home. I'm gonna beat his ass later for not warning me.

My dad comes through the door, and grins at me. He's wearing another one of his nicer shirts – a pleasant change from his goofy (characteristic and lovable) Hawaiian shirts or work jumpsuit. “You look good,” We say in unison. I laugh afterward, whilst he just rolls his eyes, “C'mere, I gotta fix that hair of yours.” I let him, catching him in the mirror.

Poseidon's got a button-up of his own, though naturally short-sleeved and the collar's buttons undone. It's a darker blue, with wave-like embroidery along the bottom. “Where'd you get that shirt?” I ask him, only half paying attention. The fingers in my hair are nice, very alike to my mom's fingers, rhythmical and methodical, but also so entirely _different_. Whilst my mother nitpicked at snarls, he just brushed through them, and styles my hair a lot more simply than the way she'd try to tease ends and curl locks around her fingers. I like it a lot more, when he's finished. “I got it from an old friend, the last time I saw her. It was a while ago now, but Artemis is always a pleasant woman to catch up with.” I don't question it, simply nodding.

He smirks at me, “Why?” I shrug, not wanting to admit anything. Brushing his own navy slacks, he grins at me, “Want a shirt like this?” I shrug again, pointedly rummaging around in my trinket drawer. Poseidon pats my shoulder, “I'll get you some nice shirts like this for your birthday,” He teases. Then my father picks up one of my shirts – a black tank-top with a fish skeleton on it, “Or maybe a few more of these punkish shirts to impress your boyfriend, hm?” Okay, I deserve this. I picked on him earlier, it's only fair. I still feel my face heat. (I can't tell if he's picked up on me and Nico's relationship or not, though I have a feeling it's the former.) “That'd be cool,” I admit.

His expression softens, and he tilts his head, “Why wait to your birthday? It's an entire month away. How about next weekend? We'll go shopping; spice up your room – out with the old, in with the new.” I grin at him, before nodding, “That – that sounds really good.” We share another smile, before he glances out my window, “Here comes Batman and Bat Girl,” He chuckles.

I turn, and see Nico and Hazel racing over to the lawn and hopping up to the window, “Hey 'Seidon! And Percy.” Hazel huffs. Nico fall from the sill, “Sup.” Poseidon sighs, running a hand through his hair, “Come here,” He quickly busies himself with Nico's hair, a rat nest naturally and falling into his eyes like some sort of shaggy dog. It suits him, though I'll never agree to it verbally.

Hazel situates herself on my bed, and kicks her legs in the air, “What restaurant are we going to, Seidon?” My father hums, “I'm not sure, sweetheart. Ask your father when he arrives. He's not back from work yet, is he? Not for another hour, at least.” She nods, humming and looking around my room, “I'mma go check on Ty.” She announces, before skipping off. She winks at me cheekily before shutting the door. I need to have a talk to Nico about what sort of influence he gives her, seriously.

“Ugh, 'Seidon, I'm fine – look, see?” Nico ducks from my father's soothing hands, brushing off his pants and huffing. He's got a white button-up (This is a theme, apparently,) that's far too large for him and the collar's wonky. A few of the bottom buttons are missing, the hem frayed – a clearly well-used shirt and something he wears more often than he admits, or it's his only dress shirt. Maybe not even his. And then he's just got a pair of black jeans on, though I give him props for the fact there's no holes or anything on them. Over it all, he's wearing a leather jacket, an aviator style, that has a same worn quality to it all.

Poseidon huffs, grabbing Nico by the scruff and hauling him to the mirror, “Do you see this mess? Let me fix it, or else your father will be mad at me for not _at least_ attempting to do something about it.” Nico grumbles, but allows my father to work his magic. “See, it's not so bad, is it?” My father chuckles, carefully smoothing Nico's hair down so that is shows his eyes off better. “You can see now, too.” As he says it, Nico's hair springs up, returning to its wild state of confusion. My father huffs, whilst Nico snickers, “Worth a shot.”

Nico smiles at Poseidon sweetly, like a real son would a father, I find, and it's...something I don't know how to feel about. The moment quickly ends, though, as Nico stretches and hums, “I'll got check on the kids.” He quickly absconds the room, and I catch a troubled look on his face.

My father lets out a sigh, running a hand through his hair, “Poor kid.” I shake my head, “Not poor, dad, he doesn't like the pity. He's...a strong kid.” He chuckles at that, nodding, “I suppose that's more fitting, isn't it?” I nod, and he pats my head as we make our way out, “I just hope him and Hades don't dour the mood with a dispute tonight – I heard about what happened...I don't want it to jeopardize our evening as a family.” _As a family_. My heart flutters; he imagines Hades' kids as his own – and, perhaps, vise versa. I knew enough that Nico sees Poseidon as a figure to give affection to. And Hazel? She's taken both Tyson and my father on like barnacles to a boat.

I smile to myself; this should be a fun evening.

We open Tyson's bedroom door to find the three of them sitting; Nico behind Tyson, trying to brush his hair with an old comb, whilst Hazel sits in front of him and fiddles with a strip of cloth that I suppose resembles a tie. Upon closer inspection, I find that Hazel has bows in her hair, separating sections to make her hair appear neater than the curly mess of lion's mane she truly has. It's cute, to say the least. They're a mix of pale yellow and white, and while her dress is mainly sunset yellow, the skirt is striped with more white, whilst the top is polka-dotted. Cute. Very cute. (it's not out of the ordinary to see one of Nico's hoodies astray beside her, presumably to be adorned once we leave the house.)

“I don't wanna wear my tie!” Tyson groans, squirming between my boyfriend's sprawled legs. He's adorable; whilst he isn't wearing a button-up shirt or a pair of slacks, he looks... _dapper_ in his navy shorts and green polo. Hazel hums, “But you'll look adorable! Ella will like you, if she's there!” Tyson puffs out his cheeks, turning pink, “But Ella wont be there!” She brushes her hair from her face, “...You got me there, one eye.” Tyson giggles, blowing raspberries. Nico grabs a sheet of paper, that's covered in tallies under the titles of Pineapple and Pomegranate. Nico adds a line to Pineapple. I assume Hazel must be Pomegranate.

Poseidon gently guides me to the stairs, and I silently follow him into the kitchen. He hops up onto the counter, crossing his legs to rest his elbow on his knee, hand cradling his jaw, “You're a very versatile person, son,” He starts. I raise an eyebrow, “Versatile?” He nods, “Adaptable. Always changing at your own pace.” I smile, “Uh, thanks, dad.” Poseidon doesn't smile back, looking at me with a storm-like hue to his eyes that quietly shifts the grains of sand that make up the cool plain of beaches in my stomach.

“Or...no...thanks?” I question, unsure. Poseidon scratches his jaw, “Be careful; while it's an admirable, favored trait for a person, it's also dangerous.” I cock my head, “Dangerous how?” I ask.

(“Alive how?” I'll ask, to which she'll shrug, “Whatever makes them -)

“You'll change to something people want and expect; something that you're not, and you'll slowly forget who you were. And I don't want you to do that, Percy,” He whispers, painfully earnest and reliving something he's watched occur more than once, it seems. My father becomes antediluvian within those few seconds I catch his eyes – like the ocean, around for eons, more than a few. He's seen things, he's grown from them and watched them destroy people.

“I've seen what change can do to young people, like you, impressionable.” ~~Nico~~.

“I don't want that to happen to you. No matter what people think of you – you keep your shape. You're sturdy and you have a good mind on your morals, Percy, whether they alter a little as you grow – that's a good thing. You change at your own pace, you know what you want in the moment, and if that changes, so be it. But...” Poseidon's eyes turn beset, in a way I've seen so many times on Nico's face, or Lou and Cecil's, sometimes Will and Jason's. Everybody has their ghosts, here.

“Don't let your change drive you after an empty dream.” ~~Bianca~~.

“Don't let yourself change so much that nobody means anything anymore and the idea of love is something destitute and no longer meaningful.” ~~Hades~~.

I nod solemnly, “No, of course not, dad.” I watch the sudden age drain from his oceanic eyes, back with a brilliance and vibrancy that Hades would be fool not to fall for. He cracks a smile, though it doesn't reach his eyes – a little strained, and I can see that he's emotional from scratching at his own wounds to be able to share that advice with me. I take it to heart. He claps me on the shoulder, then reels me in for a hug. I don't even hesitate, gripping him tightly and hiding my face in his shoulder, “I love you, dad.” I tell him; loud, clear.

He crushes me, and I don't find myself minding, in fact, maybe craving these hugs more. “I love you too, Percy. I always will.” _More than your mother ever seemed to_ , is left unspoken.

Pulling back, he chuckles, squeezing my shoulders, “Sorry to give this talk _now_ , especially before our evening out, but...I needed to get it out before I forgot and, well, better time than any.” I shrug, “I'm used to it. Nico dumps whimsy bombs on me all the time.” Then I chuckle a little, scratching my head, “There's no time like the present, or something somebody said.” He nods, “Wise words, whoever said that. Perhaps with their own...whimsy.”

I snicker, and watch Nico trip down the stairs, Hazel cackling at him from above. Tonight's gonna be a good night; I can feel it: deep set in my bones like a canker sore.

Though, I'll never be able to read my bones as well as Death's son himself.

* * *

The car ride to this mystery restaurant itself was pleasant, excusing the fact Triton sat in between me and Nico with Tyson kicking my seat the entire way there.

And the fact that Nico smoked out the window the entirety of the journey, and Hazel sang hoarsely to a song that none of us had heard of and insisted we sing a long, and the other exception that Triton kept trying to start shit with Nico, resulting in a kicking war that made Poseidon yell at them over Hazel's singing to _knock it off, you're damaging the leather, the pair of you._

Other than that it was pretty okay.

Until it scared the shit out of me when Nico hung half way out the car window, enjoying the breeze and Triton got pissed off at Hades for something and retaliated by trying to shove Nico to the curb. To which Nico slammed his heel into my brother's face and caused a giant uproar between them in a _moving vehicle with one of the doors now swinging open_. We had to pull over and have a five minute cool-down.

But, putting all of that aside, it was...fine.

If we're ignoring the “Are we there yet?” Every two minutes from Tyson, and the kicks to the back of my seat getting progressively more recessive and harsher the longer the journey continues, and the fact they now leave my back aching since when we got back into the car after the fickle between Nico and Triton, Tyson found it entertaining to bounce a fucking tennis ball he found under his seat against my back.

I swear, it was a decent car ride.

However, I'll tell you now, there were moments – intense moments – where Nico and Triton simply stared at each other – no malice, no sneering or jeering at each other – just...pure, empty stares that caused the air to swell with enough testosterone and intimidation that I felt myself _physically_ choke on it.

But we're here now, after a brief scuffle in the parking lot, reading over menus in fancy cursive that hurts my eyes. Nico sat beside me at a round table, Hazel to his left and Tyson to hers. Poseidon's on my right, Hades to his, and then Triton completing the circle.

They both sport minor injuries. Nico with a slow-forming black eye and a cut to the side of his lip, Triton with a bloodied nose, a nick to his cheek where Nico's ring caught him. They both deserve it, Poseidon had muttered to me cheekily, yet gravely, they were both being brats to each other. And yes, while that may be true, that doesn't mean I don't squeeze Nico's hand under the table whenever Triton so much as _glances_ at him.

Poseidon passes me a green sheet – pocket sized – and I grin at him. I'll still end up using Nico's, though, if I'm ever at school. Half the dishes sound appetizing; though pricey. I wince at the price, and comment on it. Hades shrugs, “I'm friends with the owner; we'll get everything half the original price.” I think that's pretty cool.

Hazel says she wants a kiddie burger, with a side of fries, and I guess that's to be expected from a ten year old. Tyson wants something similar, though, his must be _without_ salad, or else _I'll die! I really, really will!_

I don't care too much about what Hades or my dad get, but I request politely for a simple hamburger, similar to Hazel's, though riddled with bacon and cheese – it sounds really good, and my stomach grumbles in agreement. Turning to Nico, he's the only one who hasn't ordered. When Hades finally asks what his son would like to eat, he shrugs and picks at the napkin, “Nothing. I'm good.” to which Hades sighs heavily, “Then why did you come along, if you're not here to eat?” And then Nico glares, “ _You're_ the one who said I had to come! I could be out of your hair right now, asshat, but _no_ , I had to come tonight because it was a _family outing or whatever the fuck_.”

The way he spits out _family_ grates at my ears, and something is definitely wrong (though fitting and characteristic,) with how his eyes are red-rimmed and bloodshot, blood starting to drip from his reopened lip. His father huffs, grabbing a napkin and dabbing at his face roughly, “Not _whatever the fuck_ , Nico, this _is_ a family outing, you spoiled little shit, now if you don't pipe the fuck down right now, I'm locking you in the car.”

The younger di Angelo raises an eyebrow challengingly, grinning recklessly, “I'd rather be in the claustrophobic fucking space of the trunk than at the table with this fucktard,” He jerks his chin in Triton's direction.

My brother scowls, “Listen here, low class fucking bottom feeder -” Poseidon knocks his fist on the table, looking grim, “Enough.” Then, in a quieter voice, he flushes pink, “People are starting to stare.” To my surprise, he's correct. The few other families home this time of year and the elderly residents of Riverside. Evenly, eloquently, Poseidon mutters, “We can settle this outside, if you'd like; and _no_ ,” He glances at both Hades and his older son, “Not by fighting. I will make us sit in the car and talk through it like adults, when you're ready to start acting like it.” Ouch.

Nico bows his head, looking a little embarrassed by his actions, though nowhere near abashed enough to put away the baleful, sinister challenge in his crow eyes.

My thumb brushes over Nico's hand under the table; it isn't too strange for us to be so close together: it's a cramped table of seven at an originally four seater table. Nico huffs, knee bouncing agitatedly. He's itching for a cigarette, I can tell by the way his fingers twitch, interlocked with my own. I wish I could kiss him, just talk to him and soothe him, but now's not a good time to go _oh, yeah, by the way, we're boyfriends!_ to our dads.

Mainly because Triton would give us more shit about it, and because of the fact we're in public and news spreads like wildfire in forever-sunset beach city.

Nico glances at me when Hades recites our orders to the stiff, weary looking waitress, giving me a smile sweeter than honeydew. I love it. Grinning back at him, I mutter under the layer of chatter, “You okay now? We can always hang out somewhere afterward.” He blinks at me, honestly interested and intrigued, “Oh yeah? And do what?” I shrug, “Get a smoke, just...enjoy each other's company...” He smirks, “Percy,” A whisper is what comes next, “Are you proposing a date?” I grin, nodding, “Maybe I am, Nico, maybe I am.”

“In which case,” He squeezes my hand, but gets no closer, “It's a date.” I nod, “Yeah. I like that idea.” Then he just smirks at me, shaking his head, “Cute.”

* * *

 Dinner is...eventful. Poseidon does indeed end up dragging Triton and Nico to the car for an adult talk, much to his chagrin and the gossip of other customers at the restaurant. Tyson keeps Hazel occupied enough, the pair of them civilly bickering about why Batman is better than Aquaman, or vice versa. Hades picks at his meal quietly, a _blue_ steak – and though blue is my favorite color, the idea of raw steak on my plate isn't exactly appetizing, but I don't comment.

He glances out the large windows every so often, running a large, deft hand through his neatly brushed hair that is quickly becoming rustled with the frequency of his hand in his hair. I daresay there's worry in his eyes, or agitation – though the latter is more of a go-to answer simply because it's the most common emotion I've seen on his face. Nevertheless, I ask, “Is everything okay? You look a little stressed.” To which he says nothing more than, “I'm always stressed.” In a dry, dour tone.

Curious, I munch a few of my fries, “Specifically, I mean. Who are you stressed about? The boys, or my father?” Hades doesn't seem at all surprised that I slipped my father into the question. I'm surprised that he easily replies, “More so Poseidon than the boys. I don't doubt he can handle them separately, but together is a bit of a stretch. They can be...” His dark eyes fill with annoyance, disappointment, “Well, _boys_.” I raise an eyebrow, “ _Boys_ how?”

Hades turns to me, raising an eyebrow; I can't read his expression. “You ask a lot of questions, don't you, Percy?” I feel heat rise to my face: I have no idea if what he said is a good or bad thing. He smirks a little, something reminiscent in his eyes, though I can't really place it until I hear him mutter, “Nico used to ask questions.” I don't think I was meant to hear that, but I snatch onto the comment like a man in the desert snatches water, “Oh yeah? He's never really told me about... _before_.” Before being a vague period I've come to know as Pre Percy.

Nico's father, perceptive man who's already seemingly read my motives before I've even realized them myself, peers at me for a moment. Not... _sinister_ , but...something close enough to it that it makes my nerves sing with apprehension. Hades is a man that gives you the idea that he could kill you with just a flick of his wrist. Dangerous; unpredictable; _knowing_.

He moves fluidly, almost languidly, to rest his elbow on the table, jaw on the back of his hand. I'd say he'd relaxed, if not for the way I can see his tension underneath the fabric of his dark shirt. “Nico doesn't tell _anybody_ about... _before_ , Percy. You do know that if I am to tell you this, I risk even more hatred from my son than I already harbor, if he is to catch wind of this?” My throat goes dry, I feel like I'm imitating a deer in the headlights – I can tell he's finding entertainment in my spluttering. Hades curls his lip at me – cat who's caught the mouse and now toying – but hums, drumming his long fingers on the cheap wood of the table.

“Nico is a very...I won't say _unique_ boy, but I'll say he's intelligent. Very intelligent, to the point he cant look at somebody and read their life story like a walking advertisement.” I blink widely, because despite this being old news he's already told me, I'd never – I'd never...that's why he asked whether something had happened to my mom. He had picked up that I was no longer within her care. He smirks at me, “So you're an over looker, huh?” He muses, and I swallow thickly. Hades hums, cocking his head in a uncannily similar fashion that Nico would, a more _youthful_ light to his eyes that turn his eyes from voided black to cunningly crow. “Nico...my son, he's smart.” He whispers now, gaze shifting occasionally from Hazel (little Hazel, precious Hazel, I realize; both di Angelos love her and would do nothing to harm her, even if they showed that in different ways.)

“But he plays dumb.” I know that, and it's the one thing I'll ever truly hate him for, “For show, to _hide_. Hide that he already knows, that he's _better_ than these dead-end motherfuckers here.” Hades huffs, waving his hand in a short, snappy gesture. I briefly string red line from Hades' picture to Nico's, tagging a label of _dead-end town_ along it in my head.

(I'm starting to notice a lot of Nico's traits within this man, this weathered and strained man, who really is his son – a carbon copy down to their bones, but he has been jaded and aged like wine, whilst Nico still remains bitterly sweet and fizzy like Red Bull.)

Hazel huffs quietly, “A dollar for the swear jar.” But neither of us pay any attention.

“But,” Hades sighs, scratching his jaw, “That's not what you asked. You asked what Nico was like in a period _before_ , which I assume you mean before his mother died?” I nod silently. Hades gains a wry smirk, and he stirs his glass of dark liquor for a moment, “He was so much different.” I pick at my meal as the man a seat away from me becomes soft-toned, like honey drizzled over tart, “Sweet little boy; really polite and he loved to play card games.” And then he shrugs, stiff, “I think. Maria took care of them,” Bianca and Nico both, “For the first twelve years of their lives.”

Hades ran a hand through his hair, sighing, eyebrows knitted, “He says Bianca changed him into a monster, and in some cases she did, and ruined what could've have been a future beyond whatever this shitty world can give us. He's a good kid, was when he was smaller, and still...still is, in a way.” I cock my head, no longer interested in the past, but in the way Hades' tongue grows thick in his mouth and his throat constricts to release a deep, melancholic sound that allows me to peer past this abrasive layer that has been forcibly constructed to fend off Nico's brash attacks over the years.

For a moment, I think I see him mouth, “They said the teenage years would be hard, but certainly not like this,” Before he glances back up at me. Two eyes full of _nothing_ and _abyss_ bore into me, and I wonder if they're simply that glossy because of the color of his eyes, or if it's because of _emotion_. I pretend it's the former.

“His grades are shit, he'll get nowhere in life, he's doomed for nothing,” Hades mutters to me, undertones to avoid upsetting his daughter, “But...there's a _spark_ , Percy,” and I believe it, I really do, I've seen that spark and believe it can do great things, “And I don't know how to help kindle it to fire.” That's a tremendous feat for this man to admit, for a father to say that he doesn't know how to help his child. I take it with a grain of salt anyways; I'm familiar with the mutterings of _I don't know what to do with you anymore_ that Nico has recalled to me from his previous memories.

“But, in other ways,” Hades, downs the rest of his drink, sobering, “He's already a wildfire.” I smile softly, nodding. I take a bite out of my burger, “Well, wildfire's never easy to tame, is it?” Hades' eyebrows to a sort of jump, a shock, like he hadn't really expected me to speak. He's silent for a moment, before he cuts into his now cold steak, “No, I suppose not. Though, this isn't Australia. This is California where we get all four seasons, even if we are near the equator, Percy,” I don't like how his voice returns to the dark baritone of vocal chords, how the uncanny similarities to Nico start closing off to the cold man I'd seen scream _disappointment_ at my boyfriend's face only a week ago, not even that.

“Winter will come, and the fire will die.”

I don't entertain the hopeful idea that he said that just to chill me.

I find my bite hard to swallow, but I do so, and nod. “Nico, however,” And suddenly it's a switch – Hades' own fire in his eyes, a madness reborn with the audaciousness and sprite of a certain teenager who grins churlishly at me, “Is a match to gasoline. He wont go out, until somebody gets the extinguisher.” And most wont. I know this. He knows this. He proves my assumption by smirking deviously around the rim of his glass, “Nobody will; too mesmerized, too close – they'll burn down with him before they even realize they're too hot.” It's a meaningful statement. Hades _knows_ , he knows that...that I love Nico.

And he's not saying _be a good boyfriend or I'll kill you_ , no. He's not giving me a father's 'pep-talk' about the issue. He's warning me. He's saying that _he's_ not the one who will kill me if I hurt his son, no, no.

Because Nico's voracious, Nico likes the pain. Nico eats it up like a junkie injects the needle. Nico will take all that I have to offer and break my back before I can even say _stop_.

I like those odds.

So, with sudden confidence that I never thought I've have in the face of _Death himself_ , I pull my own smirk. Easily, I run a hand through my hair and lean forward to rest my jaw on the back of my hand – mirroring.

“I'll take my chances.”

Hades, again, doesn't seem surprised by my response. He tilts his head, still smirking with the toying smugness with a rodent in his claws, “Anything else you'd like to know, Percy?” I nod, leaning forward to sip from my cola, “What happened to him?. The week before I came. Everybody talks about it, but never talks about it at the same time.”

Hades hums, smile falling. He gives me a long, long, blank state, as he quietly shuffles through his cards. “He had a phone call from Bianca.”

I choke on my fries. I feel my eyes bulge, chest heave as I gain air, but still gasping on my disbelief. The man continues, half his steak now gone as he picks at the chunks he'd cut up. Meticulous in the way he presented his meal: remaining, evenly cut chunks on one corner of his plate, the lettuce on the other side whilst the lemon slice rests on a napkin on the top left of his plate, his glass top right. He'd intentionally destroyed the setting, chunks sliced messily in half, lemon gauged at with his fork, glass off-centered from the right. Very much like Nico. Though, the lettuce remain untouched. I have a feeling Hades doesn't like veg.

But nodding, the man continues, “It was very brief, only a second – though that was Nico's fault. He hung up on her before she could even spit out the fact she'd be coming home. Though, the time and location will be indefinite.” I raise an eyebrow, “Why location?” The crow-quality to his eyes is back, scavenger picking at loose scraps of emotion on my face, “Because home can mean many things, Percy, if you hadn't noticed. Home could be anywhere, it could be metaphorical, it could be physical.” He pauses, frowning a little over his messy plate, “Though I have a feeling she means here.” I cock my head, “How come?”

“Because Nico has always been Bianca's home, in an indirect view.”

I blink. Hades seems to have expected my stumped-ness. He pops steak into his mouth, “He made her sound like a bitch, correct?” The man doesn't wait for an answer, “They 'hated' each other, as most siblings do; rivalry for affection and superiority between them when single, working mother is away.” Nico's told me this. Hades wipes juice from his mouth with his sleeve – a very unmannerly, Nico thing to do, I can't help but notice.

“But it's normal for siblings to hate each other like that. However,” He clears his throat a little, torn between prideful and disapproving, “They are my children, and as such, they're far more aggressive with their... _anything_ that conspires between them.” I can't help but chuckle a little.

Hades smiles at me, shying kind, “Bianca loves Nico, and he loves her, really. It's just...very indirect, very strained and tense.” Like him. Hades shifts, leaning back in his chair and crossing his legs. He spares a brief glance out the window, but Poseidon still seems to be talking with the boys, so he tips his head back to the ceiling.

“Nico...has a lot to be angry about. So does Bianca, to a certain, lesser extent, but both equal in their realistic, simultaneously optimistic outlook on the world. They both want _something_ , want to be more than a _somebody_ , want to learn more than _anything_. It's just who they are. They're not – this life is...”

Hades gestures vaguely, like he's reeling me in closer, which I do.

“It's a dull, drought world they've been born into – not the right environment that they crave. And, in this sense, I suppose I may have passed down that trait.” I'd never have imagined Hades to be this open about things; I imagined the conversation to go no further than my original question and for him to grunt at me noncommittally. I've been proven wrong, yet again. It may be the wine, which I doubt, or it could be that I'm becoming more skilled at getting people to open up, but I doubt that even more. What my main guess is, is that I've torn open wounds that Hades has been having trouble sealing for years; making the subject fresh and ready to spill blood all the time. Just...nobody asks him about it very often.

He's proud of them – Bianca and Nico, and to some extent Hazel, though he's talked very briefly of her. Hades is a proud man; he loves his two children despite one being absent, the other slipping like water through his fingers.

I find myself turning tables abruptly, coming to the realization of, “What about their older brother? Your eldest son?” Hades blinks blankly at me, before narrowing his eyes, “How do you know of him?” I shrug, “Nico used his ID for cigarettes.” Hades runs a hand through his hair, sighing, “That's how he gets them.” I nod, wondering if I just threw him under the bus.

Hades sighs again, “I keep in contact with him, but he's working in Italy right now; has a wife, I think, and a kid on the way. Not much to say about him.” I raise an eyebrow, “What's his name?” Barely a beat passes, “Thanatos.” And that's the end of it.

Poseidon strolls merrily through the doors, Nico looking like he wanted to bolt right back out them, and Triton brooding skulkishly as he stiffly sat back in his seat. Hazel grins up at Nico, apparently having exhausted anything that would keep her entertained with Tyson, who was now attacking his cold burger. I find my plate empty.

My father sits beside me again, smiling, “There. Matter solved.” And Hades is quickly back to the silent man who listens to my father talk, admiring his smile and his ecstatic hand movements, the light in his eyes.

Nico settles into his chair, and idly picks at the table cloth. I nudge him under the table, smiling sweetly. He returns it, and upon closer inspection, he looks like he's about to drop dead. I wonder what happened in the car. Raising a questioning eyebrow, I cock my head, only for him to shake his own and slump. Just tired, most likely. Or not. Nico keeps jiggling his knee under the table, his finger scratching insistently at loose thread on his pant leg.

Glancing to Triton, he gives nothing that could point to anything too drastic having happened. Hades said Bianca called him a week prior to my arrival; screwed him up hard. I wonder if something might have happened along those lines, but before long, Nico's standing and stretching, “I'm leaving. Addio.” He strolls to the doors. I blink, and quietly excuse myself. I thank Hades and my dad for the meal, tell them it was a nice evening, and ignore the smirk Hades curls my way as I shift awkwardly towards the doors.

My boyfriend has a cigarette between his teeth and a backdrop made of fire when I step out. I smile to myself; this is something I'm used to, something I find odd comfort in. The idealization that Nico is calm; my boat is gently rocking on his tranquil waves, and the skies are clear – nothing that could drag my tiny tugboat under and drown me.

“Hold your horses,” I laugh, jogging after him. He grins up at me, shucking his cigarette box until one settles on the rim, “Want one?” I take it, let him light it for me – the flame millimeters from my nose. The smoke curls on my tongue, burns the back of my throat, and I love it. I taste bitterness, and I fix it by pecking his cheek; bittersweet. Just the way I like it.

“What's got you so down anyways?” I poke quietly, as we walk aimlessly. I finally recognize the area as the little joint a few blocks from the beach – I can see the shoreline sparkle blindingly. Nico knocks his hand clumsily against mine; I turn, to see him uneasy, mind heavy. I grapple his hand, forcibly lacing out fingers: his own are stiff, palms rough against mine, and it's not what they normally feel like. Our hands slot together just the same.

“Just...I dunno,” He breathes, smoke lacing his words like foam laces the waves. A soft breeze drags over our forms; Nico's hair is a blur of black, flickering and fluttering in inky tendrils that are downy enough to be feathers, but thick enough to be fur. The pale pallor of his skin absorbs the sun, shining him brilliant gold. Though, it's peculiar, the way his eyes remain balefully blank, darker than any type of mahogany.

Tapping ash from his cigarette, he scuffs his boots along the sidewalk, “I think this week's just gotten off to a rocky start, y'know? And I don't know if it'll improve at all.” Humming, I squeeze his hand. Indirectly, he leads us along the barren streets, and for once, I'm glad that this town is so quiet and dormant. “Not at all? Who knows, Ghost King,” I mutter to him, smiling charmingly, “Everything has a silver lining.” The look he gives me is even more empty, the bruise deep-set around his right eye and the other ringed with insomnia. The sunlight draws harsh shadows across his face – the pronunciation of his cheekbones, the angle of his jawline, the angularity of his eyebrows. All the while, his teeth catch the scab forming at the corner of his mouth, tearing it with an absence I'm unsure to be fearful for.

“Silver linings are lies.” If that isn't the cheeriest thing I've ever heard, I don't know what is.

He leans against me, halting us. We stare out to the dirt path that trickles down to the sand. The ocean looks like it's on fire. The sky's streaked with blood and stained cotton, the treeline clawing at the above like gnarled, untamed spikes that swayed in the breezes. Rugged spires, perhaps, atop a kingdom thriving within the echoing caves beneath the ground.

I don't dwell too long on it. Nico releases a long, crackling sigh. Sneaking my hand into his pocket, I dig around until I produce his phone, and squint at the dark screen in the blinding light. Camera on, I shuffle to press up against Nico, chin on his head. “Smile, beautiful,” I tell him. I snap the picture just in time for him to flush a pretty pink that is blotchy and imperfect and just _Nico_.

“You fucker,” He chuckles, swiping his phone from me and starting up some music. I grin down at him, “You love me, though.” To which he just hums noncommittally. I'm not deterred by his response, not really. It was sort of expected.

My Nico is predictable within those senses.

* * *

My dad sits with me on the porch when we return home; Tyson watching television in the living-room, Triton sulking some more in his bedroom. It feels good; to just sit with him and feel at ease.

His eyes are to the sunset so many light years away, whilst my own are dissecting the blades of grass at my feet. So many of them; all individual within cell structure and specific shades of green, but all the same when it comes down to it. “What did you talk about? With the boys.” I ask, because I'm nosy, and both Hades and Nico have been right from the start – I've never been afraid to ask questions, and lack self preservation and tact that should come with asking them.

Poseidon runs a hand through his hair, “Nothing, really. I made them apologize, and watched them cuss at each other some more; tried to understand why they hate each other so much.” I blink up at him, curious, “Any ideas?” There's defeat in his sigh, no promise of another attempt, “No. Triton and Nico are just a specific type of people, I guess.” I cock my head, scrutinizing him, “Specific?” Poseidon nods, scratching his stubble,

“Specific. A certain type that just _don't_.” He doesn't elaborate, and I suppose that's fair – it's been a long, long, _long_ Tuesday for everybody. I nod, and pick at the grass at my feet, tearing the blades between my fingers. “Other than that?” My father leans back against the porch steps, his deep eyes blinking at the shallow stars.

“I don't really know, Percy.” I frown at him, “But don't you want to?” he shrugs, giving me this long, long, _long_ look as he chooses his next words, “Of course. But sometimes, there just isn't a reason for anything; and if there is? It doesn't tell you much.” I hum quietly, “I feel like today has been necessarily _long_.”

He chuckles, patting my shoulder, “The long days are the best, son,” I raise an eyebrow, “Oh yeah?” He nods, “Because the nights are longer, and the hours you can gaze at the stars and reflect is bliss.” I furrow my eyebrows, “No they're not. Reflecting leads to would've, should've, could've and what if.”

Poseidon nods, and I continue. “It's a process of self-torture, agonizing over tiny details that aren't in any significant.” My father gives me another long look, oceanic eyes spilling deep into the depths of my chest cavity and holding me until it feels like I'm struggling for air.

“While doses of your own medicine can become poisonous real quick, to not learn from experiences is even worse.”

And in ways, I suppose he's right.


	13. My Father Holds Title To 'Best Father' Award

_"Dog days can be more eventful  
_ _than you think"_

\- Unknown

*

**CHAPTER THIRTEEN**

“She'll be home soon.” He mutters, voice laced with a distance far, far beyond what I could reach. Eyes on the sun, as if they'd swallow the raging fire with contempt.

“Who?” I inquire. Curiosity is forcing the gentle waves in my stomach to crash recklessly against the shores, and it disrupts the peace I had moments ago.

All the friendly faces have disappeared now. The sky's brewing a storm, clouds of pink now boiling blood-red and charring black the further away I look. The sun still valiantly remains.

“Her,” Is all he offers me, “The one who ruined everything.” And somewhere, I don't think that's what he really wanted to say, if the conflict on his face is anything to go by.

“Well,” I shrug, and watch the sky blunder, “Best welcome her with open arms.”

* * *

After a long, long, _long_ Tuesday, Wednesday rolls around and I find myself not wanting to move. Sun creeps in through my blinds, seeping scarlet onto my pale blue walls. There's a quality to the air that just weighs me down, changes the keratin in my bones to a heavy, laden material that immobilizes me with ease.

My phone imitates the ocean, the source of what woke me up. I haven't even pressed snooze, I've just laid here for the past ten minutes staring at my ceiling.

Eyelids are heavy, mouth is dry, stomach aching. I don't know what's going on today, it just isn't me. There's an emptiness in my chest, yet simultaneously weighing me down – guilt, maybe? Of what, I have no idea. With far more effort than should be needed, I twist onto my side and turn my alarm off. A knock resounds through my door; groaning, I say something that may have been taken as _come in_.

Poseidon peeks around the door, looking a little concerned, “Are you okay? Your alarm's been going off for ten minutes, and you're still in bed, champ.” No shit. Huffing, I throw my arm over my face. The bed dips where he sits, humming, “Something wrong? What's got you in the dumps, hm?” I shrug a little. There's silence, until he moves a little, and removes the arm from my face. I blink up at him tiredly. He's got a frown on his lips, worry knitted into his eyebrows, “Percy, is there something happening at school that makes you want to stay home?” I dunno. Maybe. I might have forgotten an essay or something, but I don't remember.

I feel lonely.

And, yeah, school might fix that – all my friends are there. But...at the same time? I don't want to go socializing. It's a...weird...sort of thing to explain. I'm want this, but I don't, at the same time. I'm sure somebody understands.

“I -” I croak, and tip my head further back into my pillow. “I dunno.” My father hums again, his hand resting on my knee, “Do you think maybe you're a little strained from yesterday?” Shrugging again, I whisper, “What part?” My father just looks at me, “Whatever part made you feel wrong.” I shift, hiding half my face in my pillow, “When...Nico's dad – he – he called.” My joints groan a little as I continue to shift, “And...everythin' was – it was all over the...the place.”

Poseidon purses his lips, contemplating. Then he asks, gently, “Would you like to stay home today? Just rest, yeah? And I'll let you bring some of your friends over, after school.” I smile at him weakly, “You don't mind?” He shakes his head, “What they teach in school no days is just – excuse my French – bullshit.” I snicker a little, “That's not French.” And he clicks his fingers, “Point proven. School doesn't teach you anything that you can't learn from experience. There's food in the kitchen – I assume you know how to cook easy dishes, like pasta?” I nod. He smiles at me warmly, “I love you Percy, get better.” I nod.

With that, he ruffles my hair and stands, heading for my door. He hesitates, “Triton will be home today – doesn't have work on Wednesdays. Just be weary, okay, if Nico is to come over.” I nod, and he winks at me, “Don't get up to too much, kiddo.” I flush red, but before I could retort, he's closed the door.

I smile to myself. While it may not feel homely the way my mom made it feel – my dad can't stay home and dish me some chicken soup, even if I don't need it – it's homely in a different sense that's actually more _secure_ than what my mom offered me. My bed doesn't have cheap springs, my comforter isn't only an inch thick.

Twisting with as much effort as I can put into it, I curl up under the comforter and close my eyes. It's better than struggling to keep them open feel them burn. I listen to the sounds that echo through the house – Tyson's giggling, the soft, low hum of Poseidon's chuckle and voice, the tempo of feet that creak through the floorboards. Then there's the huff that comes from just outside my door, the sulking grumbles of a sibling old enough to be living on his own by now instead of gracing this family with his bullshit.

Ignoring it seems like the best idea.

My door slams open, Triton's voice hissing through my tranquility, “Get the fuck out of bed, you little shit,” I try to block him out. “Just because you feel lazy doesn't mean you can get outta school – get your crap together.”

I discreetly burrow further under my comforter. It's warm and thick, a security layer from the venomous bite his mouth slurs at me. “Did you hear me?” He growls. I feel his presence move to the bed, and I can't believe that my heart is actually beating faster because of this bullshit. Stubbornly now, I keep my eyes closed.

Triton sounds like he's rifling through my drawers; I panic. Abruptly I sit up, sudden energy to my movements - “The fuck are you doing? Get outta my shit, dude!” I freeze as I move to grab him. He has my mother's photo in his hands. Smirking smugly, he dangles it – both hands on it like he'll shred it to pieces, “Ooh, looks like I have something important, don't I? Is this your whorish mother? Bet it was an accident that you were conceived.”

I don't show that his words struck something in me. Standing, I try to swipe it from him, “Give it back, motherfucker!” I yell. Triton jumps back, dancing around me teasingly, “What'll you do if I do this -” He starts to tear it at the top, only a little bit, but it still encourages me to lunge at him.

I crash where he was once standing, hitting my head against the windowsill. Scowling, I jump right back up. He grabs the shoebox under my bed and races for the door, “You look fine now, little brother – maybe you should haul your ass up and go to school after all! I want the house to myself today, you little fucker!” He stumbles down the stairs, curving hazardously around the corner, “Father, look at him now, he's fine!”

He's got the shoebox high in the air, ready to smash it to the ground. “Give it back, you asshole, don't you fucking dare -” Poseidon looks disgruntled with all the sudden racket, and I'm kicking Triton in the shins to try and get my box and photo back. “Triton what on earth are you doing?” Poseidon orders coldly.

My brother grins, pointing at me childishly, “Look! He's fine now, isn't he? Send him to school, for fuck sake!” Neither of them are paying attention to me anymore, as I try to retrieve my items. “Triton, give him his belongings, now.”

Everything happens in slow motion, and all too fast.

He uses force to throw the box to the ground, the lid falling off and all the trinkets inside clattering to the ground, most of the breaking. The seashells, the picture frames, the snow globes, the little figurines – all shatter.

Something cold runs through me; I feel sick to the stomach. My eyes prick with tears, but all I see is _red._ So much, I'm so...so empty right now – I should be angry, I should be fucking furious, but. I just feel cold. Cold, frozen, but my insides are on fire. (Somewhere wonders if this is how Nico feels half the time.)

Next thing I know, I've thrown Triton to the floor and I'm beating my fist into his face. Everything falls to shit after that. Tyson starts crying, overwhelmed, confused, Poseidon tears me from my victim, holding me close as I try to grapple at him blindly, “You motherfucker, I'm gonna kill you!” I shriek.

Triton doesn't get up. But he's breathing fine, cradling his face tenderly. He'll be fine; my dad's got me in a tight grip. But he doesn't seem angry at me, just quiet. He leads me – whilst I struggle against him, legs flailing, beating at his arms – away from the kitchen, and all but carries me back up the stairs. “Percy, calm down.” I don't, needless to say.

He kicks my bedroom door shut, setting me on the bed, even as I catch his jaw with my flailing. The minute he lets go, I try and get back up. He pushes me back down, breathing evenly, “Percy,” He's soft, calming, “It's time to calm down, now.”

I huff at him, slamming back against the wall. My father sits patiently beside me, hand on my knee again, “Now, I think I need some explanation for what just happened.” I blink at him, the adrenaline leaving me cold and as uncomfortable as before, “You – You're not mad?” The look he gives me says that he is, but he what he says is a little elaborated, “Not at you, kiddo.”

He pushes me to lay down. I clear my throat a little, tongue feeling heavy in my mouth, “He was starting shit. Said I was an accident -” Poseidon blinked widely, before frowning deeply, “Don't let that get to you Percy – you were fully intentional, and I love you dearly.” I nod, “An'...he was saying some – some other stuff. Then he got m-mom's photo...took my box – and now, and now it's broken and he broke everything and I don't know what I'm gonna do anymore and he's just fucking -”

I sob. Like, really loudly. I hide my face in my pillow, embarrassed and feeling pathetic. My father's hand is warm and steady on my shoulder, “Do you want me to get anything, Percy?” I start to shake my head, hiccuping. Quietly, Poseidon moves to drag me from my pillow, but I move to hide my face in my hands. My palms quickly become damp, and my throat's sore, chest heaving. Ridiculous. It was only a few trinkets that my mom and I used to get at the beach. It was stupid that I'm crying over this.

He hugs me. I let him, not really capable of saying now,and I know there's only one person I really want around right now. But he's probably at school already, throwing shit around the classroom and getting in trouble. My father reads my mind, gently muttering, “Would you like me to call up Nico?” I nod miserably.

There's a chuckle, and Poseidon squeezes my shoulder before parting to make the call.

I...I feel bad. Guilty, just...out of it. I'm not crying so bad, but tears still stain my pillow, and my guts are cold and knotted with the idea that my collection has been fucking _wrecked_. Triton ruined what good memories I have of my mother. If I see his face today, I'll break his fucking nose. I clutch the comforter tightly, feeling the fabric tear a little under my grip.

Poseidon steps back into my room, muttering, “Nico will be here soon, Percy. Is there anything else you want?” I shake my head. He nods, and leans down to ruffle my hair, “I've got to get Tyson to school, and then I'm at work...I don't know what Triton will be doing, but I've advised him to stay out today.” I nod silently.

With a final sigh, he mutters, “I'm really sorry about what happened, Percy. I really am.” I shrug, “I-It's whatever.” Poseidon nods, “We'll make that shopping trip a little sooner, yeah?” I shrug, “Whatever y-you want.” With that, he leaves.

And I'm all by myself.

* * *

I think I fell asleep somewhere in between (I know, childish, crying myself to sleep.)

But when I blink away the sleep, my eyes feeling raw from rubbing at them earlier, there's a body beside me scratching away at paper with a pencil. “Hey sugar,” Nico quietly smiles, setting his pencil down to card fingers through my hair. I close my eyes leaning into it. I don't trust myself to speak without starting to cry again – ugh – so I just move my hand to squeeze his thigh.

I notice he's wearing shorts and a big shirt that isn't his. One of my old ones – the orange one I had as a souvenir from my summer camp a few years back. He looks really small and washed out in it; the gaudiness of the color looking neon against his skin. It looks...strange, but...cute, in a way.

“You want some water?” He asks, pointing to the glass sitting on my nightstand. Shaking my head, I sidle up to him more, resting my head on his chest. Nico huffs a little, “Now I can't finish my sketch. Thanks, dumbass.” I choke a little on my chuckle, “Y're wel-come.” I love the way he looks at me; he isn't giving me pity, isn't trying to give me a sympathetically understanding look.

He's just looking at me like he always does – mirth laced with love. A little bit of a smirk dancing on his mouth, but not so big that it agitated the scab forming nicely on his lips. His eyes were half-lidded, I think from tiredness, but also because his eye is hurting from the bruise. Nico returns to his sketch, scrawling _WIP_ at the bottom. I raise an eyebrow, “M-Me?” He nods, “Yup. You were sleeping; I got bored.”

I huff against his collar, “Sorry.” Shaking his head, he lazily shoves his sketchbook onto the floor, beside his bag, “Nah. Got me outta school, my hero in tear-stained blankets.” I huff at him, “Mean.” He nods, “Always.” Then he sips from my glass. I scowl, hitting him weakly, “Mine.” Nico raises an eyebrow, “Me or the water?”

I don't reply, shifting up to lay on top of him. My breath brushes his ear as I leave a wet kiss on his cheek, “Both.” Then I reach over and chug half the water, feeling parched. Nico scrunches his nose, “Ew.” Wiping the slobber form his face. “Just. Ew.”

Shrugging, I shimmy down to rest my head back on his chest, my body almost pinning his slender frame to the bed. “I hate you sometimes.” Nico says dryly. I shrug again, “Love you too.” He's silent, and I can feel his smile dancing on my head. I look up to find him pink and puppy-eyed, “Yeah?” I nod, “Yup.” His hand clumsily lands on my head as he grapples around further on my nightstand, back with a cigarette and a lighter, “You okay if I light up in here?” I nod.

(I feel so much better than I did; this boy is like a fucking emotional sponge.)

He indeed lights up his cigarette, taking a deep breath before letting it out. As he does so, I cock my head up at him. My boyfriend peers back down, “What?” Humming, I whisper, “Why do you hate your sister to much?”

Nico doesn't _flinch_ , per say, but he...no, not freeze, either. Just...hm. It's more of a grimace sort of thing, mixed with a snarl. After a while, the expression morphed into a lost, unfocused thing that looked like he was a little sad, but mainly just tired, “I don't. Not really I – I just. We've got a weird sort of relationship, Percy, it's complicated.” I close my eyes to the sensation of his fingers rubbing soothingly into my scalp, “What – What would you do if she came back?”

The hand flies from my hair, and he chills under my hold. I don't dare open my eyes, the world feeling colder. He doesn't answer me for what feel like hours, but only could've been a minute. Within that time, I had curled up a little more, dug my hands around his waist, hugging him tentatively. “I don't know what I'd do, Percy. There's a lot of unresolved conflict between me and Bianca, a lot of negative feeling I have towards her for...for leaving and the things she did before she left. If she were to... _come back_ , I think I'd kill her.” He says it with grim determination, no room for objection or joke.

I'm silent, and internally dread the days that will lead up to Bianca's impromptu arrival. I hope it's not for another month or so -that way, I could possibly dilute any anger Nico may still harbor. My boyfriend sighs heavily, “Whatever. Doesn't matter. Why'd you ask?” There's rousing suspicion in his tone, a gleam in his crow eyes that indicates that he _knows_ I know, that somebody told me, that I went and asked.

I shrug, “Just...wondering.” I've never been good at lying, dammit. He blinks, then sighs, “My dad told you, huh?” I wince, shrugging a little more, “I...yeah. Yeah, sorry, I just – I got curious, and...” Nico shakes his head, smiling down at me, painfully forgiving, “It's fine, Perce.” I smile up at him, “Yeah?” he nods, “Curiosity is normal. But...if you wanted to know so bad, why didn't you ask me?” I duck a little, “You dad said you don't talk to _anybody_ about it.”

Nico rolls his shoulders, “True.” He smells like cigarettes and the woody smell of campfire. I doze to it for a while.

* * *

“What's up, anyways? Why're you home?”

I don't answer immediately, just lay pliant on him. The red light on the wall's merged amber now, the odd chill that made me feel clammy dissipated into the air. My fingers curl tightly into the hem of his shorts, just above his knees, my nose buried into the crook of his neck, where his pulse is faint and soft. “I'm not really in it today; dad let me have the day off to get back into things.” Nico hums, pouting, “Aww, povero bambino.”

A shiver runs through me; tingling and warm. He ruffles my hair, arching to give me a kiss; roughly, voraciously, making me press harder into it, sitting up more to fully enjoy it. As abruptly as it started, it ended just as brusquely. My lips have the lingering, bitter taste of cigarettes, but the sweetness of Red Bull.

I smile dopily, he ignores me in favor of putting on some music. He sits up, patting me a little – indicating that I need to move. I do so, falling back on my knees as he rummages in his bag. He pulls out his pencil case, and pulls his sketchpad back into his lap, “Just stay still for a minute, I wanna test out a palette.” I raise an eyebrow, “Palette?” Nodding, Nico pulls out a few colors, “Yeah – it's the colors used on a sketch or something. Don't have to be realistic – I'm not gonna be. Just gonna use a few colors cus I'm bored.” I sidle up beside him, resting my chin on his shoulder, “What colors are you gonna use?”

Nico runs a hand through his hair, “I'm thinking red tones for the skin, blue-green for the hair and eyes.” I furrow my eyebrows, “That sounds weird.” There's a fond, excited little smile that dazzles his mouth as he says, “That's the point. Art isn't just the traditional painting style. It's like...experimentation; you never know what the fuck something's gonna result in, 'til you try out some shit.”

His hands are already working; a chalk red working over the main area – block colors, it seems, and then shading afterward. That's cool. It's therapeutic, I find. To watch the careful lines he confidently etches, to dissect the texture of the pencil on the paper – okay, that's enough, I'm gonna make myself dizzy.

I groan loudly, nipping at his ear, “I'm bored.” Nico shrugs, “Not my problem.” I pout, “Yeah it is.” Shaking his head, Nico rolls his eyes, setting his sketchbook down again.

“Well what do you wanna do, Percy?” I shrug, “I dunno.” Nico rolls his eyes, sighing, “Well, there's not much _to do_ , really.” An idea lights a bulb in my head, and whilst I'm not exactly comfortable doing it, this activity makes Nico light up like the forth of July.

“We could go steal shit.” Nico gives me a dubious look, “Though you were meant to be sick?” I groan louder, “But Nicoooooooo.” He scrunches his nose, rolling his eyes, “Percy; your dad let you stay home specifically to _stay at home_.” I'm struggling to understand Nico's sudden responsibility, but I guess I'll let it slide.

“If there's anything you want, I'll go get it; you're staying here, you emotional wet blanket.”

I grumble, rolling around on his lap, “Noooo; you'll have to put on clothes.” He raises an eyebrow, “I'm already wearing clothing.” I shake my head, hugging his thighs, “You'll have to put on _your_ clothes.” No shorts. No orange shirts. ~~No lovely exposure to his creamy thighs that make me drool and want to bruise them whilst feeling him writhe underneath me~~.

He shifts a little, “What's wrong with my clothes?”

I shake my head, “Nothing, nothing, just...” I shrug a little, my fingers tracing circles into his knees. Nico pokes me, “What?” Smirking, I mutter, “I like you in mine more.” Scoffing, he thumps me on the back of the head, “Perv.” I scrunch my nose, “It's Percy, actually.”

Then he curls his spine in that delicious way above me, his legs stretching until his toes curled, arms suspended above his head. I find myself staring stupidly, just...feeling really warm and fuzzy, unable to think straight. He peers down at me, raising an eyebrow, “You okay? You're a little red.” His cool palm brushes my forehead, nimble fingers brushing my hair back. I nod, “Just wonderful.”

He smirks at me, waggling his eyebrows, “Yeah? So wonderful that,” He moves the tiniest bit; his knee rubbing my thigh, “You've got a little excited?” I feel my face melt from the heat of my blush. I roll away from him, yelling with embarrassment, “Fuck!” He snickers loudly, squeezing my shoulder reassuringly, “Relax – you're a teenage boy. Shit happens.”

I don't turn back over, facing the wall with my knees to my chest. I glance down – I'm not... _hard_ , but there's a bulge. I sigh heavily, hearing him chuckle softly as he rustles around. Probably getting changed to leave. “I fucking hate you,” I huff.

I can hear the smirk, “No you don't. Not if you're suffering from _that_ right now.” And, stupidly, idiotically, regrettably, I blurt out, “Maybe I was thinking about a hot granny!” Nico falls into snorts and giggles, and a paper ball hits the back of my head, “Dork.” I'm digging myself a hole, dear god. At least _somebody's_ getting a laugh out of it.

There's the sound of a zip going up, and a bag being packed up. “Well, I'mma bounce anyways – I'll be back in a few minutes. Anything you want?” I can see the window's he's giving me; a couple minutes to...calm myself. I snort a little, chuckling, “Uh, yeah, actually.”

I turn over, tugging the comforter up a little, “Get me some cigarettes? Just – the ones you get. And a lighter?” He doesn't even blink, just nods, “I'll get you a couple packs, then.” I grin, “Thanks babe.” He winks at me, “Anything for you, sugar.” And then he hoists himself up to the window, blows me an over exaggerated kiss, and hops down.

Smiling to myself, I shake my head.

I feel like a shower is due. My bones creak as I move to sit up, toes wriggling on the carpet. There's a pleasurable shiver that comes with feeling the cold air; and as I stand, my mind wanders to Triton.

Is he still home?

What happened to his broken trinkets?

Fuck.

Fuck.

Fuck.

Kill them all.

Okay, the last one was a little over the top, but the fucks were necessary. I try to breathe evenly, finding tears back in my eyes at the idea that my father may have thrown out anything that might be salvageable. Crossing my fingers, I shuffle to the door and silently open it. I don't have to worry about the issue in my pants anymore – turns out that getting teary-eyed over personal belongings is a real mood killer.

I listen to the suddenly too large house, hearing nothing out of the ordinary aside from the rustle of a plant pot by the hall window, where the breeze disturbed the little leaves. I smile at it; a generic pot plant; cute. I didn't pin my father to be one to buy pot plants.

The wooden floorboards moan under my feet, imitating the pop of joints shifting under skin. I smile to myself, the idea of Nico stretching and his spine clattering blossoming in my head. Then it falls as I turn away from the bathroom, to the stairs, and start heading down them. Triton's door is open, as I look back, indicating that he isn't in there.

As quietly as I can, I make my way down to the bottom. The lights are off; a soft golden hue smeared over everything through the blinds and the curtains. The air smells like seawater; emanating from my father's raincoat when the weather's choppy at sea. It's soothing, and I chuckle at the dainty lilies resting in a bowl of water on the window by the stairs. How have I missed all these flowers?

Shaking my head a little more, I sober as I step into the kitchen. Nobody's in there; but my father has cleaned up and left the box on the table. My hands shake a little when I peel off the lid, eyes washing over the excessive amount of blue glitter, and a few shells stuck on it with Elmer's Glue, a picture of me and my mom slapped on the corner. I set it to the side, peering inside at all the sharp fragments and then to the damp stain that had been mopped up on the floor, where the snow globe probably split.

There's a note in simplistic writing, and I pick it up gently.

> _Hey champ – most of it was saved; we can sit and glue it all back together at some point, if you want. Or by yourself, if you don't want any help. Either way, the only thing I couldn't salvage was the snow globe. I'm really sorry this happened this morning, kiddo...I know you were already feeling kinda ~~shitty~~ bad, and then Triton did all of this._
> 
> _I'd like to talk to you when I get back about this...there's a lot of stuff I'd like to plan for – father and son bonding, sure, family outings with the di Angelos, too, if you enjoy those activities, but also just...I dunno, but you get what I mean? Just general planning, like some new stuff for your room! Anyways, you're not in trouble, don't worry; I don't blame you for getting angry, Percy, I really don't. But I would like to talk to you about that, too._
> 
> _-Dad, or Poseidon, since you don't seem comfortable with the former yet._

I need to start calling him dad – that's my first thought on all of this. I sniffle a little, my mouth forming a dreary, strained smile. My dad – he's just...he's awesome. I love him, I really do. Just took me a while to get fitted in with everything.

I should talk to him – for a while, y'know, really talk with him. Tell him I love him more, tell him I'm thankful that he...he _saved me_ , honestly. I don't think I'd be around much longer if I was still living with my mom. I'm here now, though, and that's all that matters. With an awesome boyfriend, and maybe my best friend, a group of people that love me and the best dad I could ask for, along with Tyson.

I would like him to help me piece together whatever junk is in here. That would be very cool; and I could tell him the stories behind it all, and he'd probably chuckle and ask some questions, but all in all be respectful of my boundaries and easily pick up if I'm a little too sensitive about something.

Closing the box, I rest it on the table, ready for me to take back upstairs. Sifting through the cupboards, trying to decide between some granola bars or pop tarts, I hear the front door opening and closing. I tense, frozen on the spot, until I hear singing. Nico. It's just Nico. I sigh inwardly, but chuckle when he sashays into the kitchen and dumps his backpack onto the table beside my box. He eyes it for a minute, scrunching his nose at the glitter, “Nice memory box.” I raise an eyebrow, “How'd you know?”

He smirks at me, opening his bag of presumably stolen loot, “I told you. I burnt every goddamn thing that reminded me of my mother, meaning I must've had a box akin to yours at one point, right?” I chuckle, wiping my nose on my hand, “True.” then he hip-checks me, “Stop taking my one-liners, Shark Bait.” I grin at him, “You love me.”

Producing two packs of cigarettes, sliding them over to me, along with a blue lighter, he hums, “Did I ever imply otherwise?” I hum, “Fair point.” I take the cigarettes packs, shoving them in my pocket, lighter in the other. Dipping down, I peck his cheek, “Thanks.” He shrugs, running a hand through his hair, “Was nothing.”

Nico then pulls out a porno magazine and settles it beside the bag. “Why.” I sigh, hiding my face, “You're gay, why the fuck do you keep getting these?” He shrugs, “I like doodling on them. I blink at him for a moment, before sighing even heavier, “I fucking hate you.”

Inordinately, he presses a kiss to my nose, “Nah, you love me really.” I don't reply, instead asking, “What else you got in there?” Nico shakes his bag a little, “Junk.” I nod, “Sounds about right.” Frowning, he whacks me, “Mean.” I shake my head, “Tired.” Then I have my crow-eyed boyfriend shoving me up the stairs, forcefully throwing me to my bed and climbing on top of me. “Sleep.” He says, then curls up on my chest like some fucking dog or cat.

I take another five minutes to rest, mainly because I'm cataloging every detail about Nico I can remember before my eyes slip closed.

* * *

Nico gets called by Reyna a little later, and to put it short: she needed him to help chaperone an after school activity for the Freshman; something about needing a scarier face there so the kids weren't too terrified of her to actually heed her instructions. I found it sort of funny, but Nico had been heavily reluctant to leave my sound, which was endearing in its own way. He'd left eventually, after kissing me breathless and winking.

He'll be back around six, maybe; three hours.

Since then, I've lounged on my floor, all my blankets and pillows around me in this sad nest of loneliness, now that Nico wasn't there to fill the void, in that perfect way. I've got my box resting by me, all the contents strewn on my floor. The fragments of shells were piled neatly – frames and glass settled with their photos, a few other precious items.

I don't know if I want to repair them or not. I might – I might just get rid of it...burn it all, maybe. Not to steal tricks from Nico's book, or anything, but _purification of fire_ comes to mind. But, simultaneously, I don't want to damage my stuff even more, despite my sentiment towards them not exactly holding any value anymore. To be or not to be, I guess.

Except it's not questioning suicide, it's questioning inanimate objects' homicide.

Humming, I cock my head a little, chin rested on my folded arms. I haven't moved for a solid half our, and I'm starting to feel pent up energy make me twitch. My ears perk at the sound of a car rumbling into the drive. Then the door popping open with that soft sweep along the floor – that lovely, somewhat pleasing sound I've come accustomed to, and the well-worn sigh laced with joy carrying up the stairs. A rustle of his jacket being hung on the hooks, boots toed off and kicked against the wall where the rest of the shoes reside. Dad's home.

I smile to myself, happy to not be entirely alone. “Percy? You home?” He calls, sounding a little tired, but overall genuinely happy to be home. I respond, “Up here, dad!” There. I've called him dad. I feel a little more accomplished, and make a mental note to call him dad more often.

There's a grunt, probably Poseidon dragging his large backpack up the stairs. There's a thump as it's dropped outside my door, before he knocks and peeks in, “Hey champ, how you doing?” I smile up at him, “Good; a – a lot better than this morning. Nico left thirty minutes ago, I think. Rey needed him.” My dad nods, and closes the door behind him, hunkering down to sit beside me. He glances at my displayed items, quirking an eyebrow, “What're you planning on doing with this, by the way? I – I hope I didn't wreck anything...more.”

Shaking my head, I sit up; dizziness swelling in my head momentarily. “It's fine, dad. To be honest -” I cough, shrugging a little. I think I've made my decision, to...to just get rid of it all. He gives me an interested look, shifting to face towards me, “What, Percy? What's up?” I gesture a little with my hands, and shrug again, “I don't want it anymore.” He blanches for a moment, surprised, shocked, before sobering and nodding, “Okay. If that's what you want, we can take it all to the junkyard.” Pursing my lips, I play with my shirt hem. Poseidon hums, “Or not. Is there something else you'd like to do with this?” He nods to my crap.

Shrugging, I scratch my head, “I kinda wanna...burn...it?” I mutter. There isn't any weirded out look he gives me, he doesn't even seem all too worried or concerned about my preference. “Okay.” He says, then scratches his cheek, “I think we can get that sorted. Anything you want to keep -”

“No.”

No. No, no. I just want it all gone, that's the decision I've come to.

My dad nods, unaffected, “Sure. That's fine. The box too?” Nodding, I smile, “I just want to leave it behind, I guess. She...uh, mom, y'know...there were good times we had – but a lot of her judgment just...” Altered my own opinions, stopped me from embracing other social groups aside from the bare minimum that actually spent time with me. Poseidon nodded, “I get it; I do, kiddo, I really do. Your mother's a suffocating woman, and sometimes you just need to...break away from it, start again.” I chuckle, “That's what you did, huh?” A couple times. Before and after my mother.

Poseidon nodded, chuckling, “Yes. Sometimes, after a while, they give you a side you hadn't previously been aware of. And I'm,” He rolls his head a little, smiling dreamily, dopily, and I have a feeling I know what's coming next, “I think I've finally found somebody who doesn't have a side I don't know.” I grin at him, “I'm glad. When's the wedding?” I joke, to which he whacks me lightly, “Don't be a brat, kid.” I wink, “Don't worry, Triton's got me covered.”

He dims at that, drumming his fingers, “I'm making him get a job, Percy, how do you feel about that? It'll mean he's around less.” I smile, then frown, “Don't force Triton around just because of me. I know it's sort of...my fault that a lot of this has been happening.” Poseidon shakes his head, and pulls me to sit shoulder to shoulder, arm around mine, “No, no – don't ever think that, son, gods no. Triton's been a canker sore since he was left on my doorstep with his suitcase.”

I chuckle, and sigh. “Well, in any case, I guess it's a good thing. I wont be upsetting Tyson so much with our disputes.” Poseidon nodded, scratching his jaw, “True. Now, how about you come out with me, and we'll go do some father-son bonding, hm?” I nod, smiling, “Sounds good, dad.”

With that, he pats my head and tells me to get dressed, and that we'll leave in half an hour. He leaves, shutting my door. I'm alone again, to the sounds of my father hauling his bag to his room, a merry tune to the air. Sighing, my limbs turn to cement, and I don't feel like moving anymore.

I get up anyways, and sluggishly change into some dark jeans, another navy tank-top with some depiction of New York on it, and it mildly amazes me how much this style is growing on me. I peer down at the boots Nico has yet to take back, and slip into them. Then, there's my jacket – a denim jacket that was something I bought impulsively at the airport on the way to my dad's house, after the flight. Sort of a soothing mechanism, I guess. It helped me get used to something new before I got into an entirely new environment.

But I it on, sloppily rolling the sleeves. Hell, I even glance in the mirror for a second, before brushing my hair to the side. (I briefly entertain the idea of piercing my ears whilst we're out, but then decide against it.) After, I just smile softly. I'm very different, I find.

Idly, I grab a photo from the pile by me nest and tack it up my the mirror. It's only of me this one, but I look so much younger. The kid in the photo sits at an ice cream bar with blueberry ice cream smeared all over his nose. He's even got it in his short, tufty hair, a little it under the eye that has more freckles on that side than the other. A naïve sort of light in his eyes, and as I turn to the mirror, I can still sort of see it, but...it's matured, I think. Well, no, not _matured_ , per say, but...grown. The guy I see in the mirror is as is – a guy, not a kid. He's got this sort of smirk that hints at jovial friendliness, and his green eyes are more like the darker hues of the ocean, further out, than the shallows in the little boy's eyes.

I like the change, I think. It shows what progress I've made.

Scratching my head, I leave the photo by my mirror and tell myself there'll soon be more faces stuck up there to greet me in the mornings, if I can get my hands on a camera and a printer. Then I turn tail and mindlessly shove my items back into my box, kicking it back under my bed. I feel like I'll burn that in the hours I'm alone. Maybe depart from the group and tell them I need to go chuck it off the cliff after I light it. That sounds good, actually. Yeah...drown the memories. After burning them to nothing.

As I muse, I circuit my room: replace comforter and pillows back on my bed, playing with the blinds until I decide I like them half-open, the lines of coppery light on my gray-blue carpet. I'll take pictures of those things, too, like Nico does. He likes to carry around that ancient camera sometimes, just snapping shots and doing fuck knows what with them. I think he just gathers them, until he sits and looks through them all, tucking them somewhere. I'll have to ask him one day.

I crane my neck to the ceiling, hands resting on the small of my back, just above my waist. There's this stillness to the world as of that moment that displaces what I've come to know and the perspective I've come to use as my lense for the world, and it eats at my just as silently, just as subtly as the way I watch the light on the carpet transition from copper-orange to amber-yellow.

And suddenly I move, my phone taken from its charger on my nightstand, and I fiddle until music starts to play from its half-clogged speaker. It gives the device character, I think, and a better audio. More authentic, sort of.

The stillness is startled by my sudden actions, the dust particles disrupted and scattering everywhere. Humming, I turn in a slow circle, looking at the bare, chalk-blue paint of my walls, from top to bottom, and then to the gauntness of my plaster ceiling. My closet centered at my farthest wall, the desk by my window, which is centered on the wall opposite the door, which is _also centered_. The left wall from the door is my bed, with the nightstand to the right, a few feet separating it from the desk.

I want a beanbag in here, I think, and perhaps a small bookshelf used for anything but fucking books – sure, maybe a few comics, but maybe just for movies or video game cartridges. And a television, though I think I'll save up for one myself, along with some form of came console. I don't want my dad blowing money on me for junk. A lot of what I want can actually be scrounged from the junkyard, probably, and just fixed up a little. Perhaps I don't even need beanbags, not when I can probably just take those seats from the car and wash the covers and bleach the insides. Who knows. The possibilities are endless.

In my head, a connection of half-baked images paint themselves onto my walls. Posters, pages from magazines, maybe some graffiti, if I can Nico to help me.

Knocking on my door, my dad calls, “C'mon kiddo, let's go!” I sigh and make for the door, “Coming, coming, chill.” Poseidon chuckles. I'm greeted with his beach-themed Hawaiian shirts and khaki shorts again, causing me to laugh quietly. He winks at me, “You old man's got taste, it just doesn't appear in the sunlight that often.” Nodding, I walk beside him as we head for the door.

“Hey...where's Tyson?” Poseidon waves at me a little, “Staying at Ella's until nine, so.” I nod, “Makes sense. Hazel goes away a lot, too, apparently.” Poseidon shuts the door, locks it, and we make our way to the station wagon. The dark paint is chipping a little, but I hardly find that undesirable. The leather crinkles a little under us, and I love it. There's a little dolphin dangling from the rear view mirror, too.

“A'ight, so first stop?” Poseidon questions. I gaze out the window for a moment, eying the pot plant by the door, “The mall? Is there a mall here?” He answers by starting the car and backing out of the driveway, “Not a magnificent mall, but it's a mall.” I nod, “Good enough. What's it got?” My dad chuckles, “A Hot Topic that Nico's addicted to, some furniture department, and a couple places like a tattoo slash piercing parlor. But don't worry,” He smiles over at me as we trundle along the roads, “There's the rest of town to explore.”

To that, I play with the radio, roll down my window, and feel the wind ruffle through my hair.

_Sometimes goodbye's the only way, oh,_

_And the sun will set for you_

* * *

So far, we've enthused about fish and the idea of his job as a fishing business out in the ocean, on the entirely other end of the beach that nobody visits due to it being mostly docks and a rock beach. I mean, I think his job's pretty cool. Sounds fun, too. Just being out on the ocean in general is a fun thing to imagine, and also calming, depending on the weather.

And I've told him about what school was like back in New York; how I changed a few, due to behavioral issues, until I got cemented at my final one, where I met Annabeth and Grover. And then, disdainfully, I had described them both to my father, of whom had inquired if Annabeth Chase was the daughter of Athena Chase, the CEO of a mega organizational business down in Virginia, to which I had said yes. The way his face soured was comical, like he'd squeezed an unripe lemon into his mouth and snorted it out through his nose. “I take it you don't get along with Athena?” I'd joked.

“Of course not, Percy, she's a difficult woman in every sense of the word and has _organization_ down as a religion, somewhere.” Then I'd quirked an eyebrow and smirked, “You have a lot of difficulty with women. Is that why you're getting on so well with Hades?” And he made another funny face, blushing pink and not meeting my eye for five minutes into the car ride.

It'd been good so far, and I'm loving every second of it.

We peeked around the rundown, miserable excuse for Hot Topic in the mall first, since I wanted to see if there was any merch I recognized, and to my dismay, there wasn't. I got a few of the non-merchandized shirts because they looked cool and I think I'd get some bonus points from the guys for wearing them. That, and I genuinely enjoyed their look. Then, of course, a few tank-tops, as I have become conditioned to wearing. Most of them were shark-related, or y'know, stuff about the depths, because I like the ocean and anything that doesn't have something blue on it I will burn and never have the hopes of wearing.

And then I'd gotten a _Hard Rock Café_ sweater because I recall Nico having one in cream. This one was...creamish, too, I guess. But...more gray. I think he'll end up stealing it from me, but whatever.

Poseidon had just smiled and given me this knowing look throughout all of it, and paid without a care at the price, “Anything for my son's early birthday,” He'd joked. I ended up dragging the bags out back to the car because I'm too lazy and lead-limbed to lug them around the entirety of the mall there was to explore. Two bags, but still. Stuffed to the brim with four tank-tops, two shirts and a sweater, three pairs of jeans and a slouchy beanie. And then a pair of dark blue sneakers, because I can't just wear Nico's boots all the time. Uh, yeah, and I'd gotten myself a little too attached to this leather jacket that was in the back, so that was added to the crap. Also this wristband that had blue font on it saying _fuck the flow_. So yeah, you can imagine why I didn't want to carry it all around.

I feel sort of bad. By the end of this, my father's wallet is going to be sucked dry.

“We can just stop now, “I warn him as we return to the cracked linoleum of the mall's insides, grinning, “I'm a very expensive child, or so I've been told.” Poseidon chuckles, shaking his head, “I can assure you; this is nothing. You have seen Tyson's toys, haven't you? And - whilst you haven't been in Triton's room – he's hoarded a lot of crap that's far less important than what I've getting you, Percy.” I smile, feeling warm and fuzzy, “Okay, if you're sure.”

We stroll around the lower floor some more, before I give in and run into the furniture department and pounce at one of the beds. Then I groan, because – springs, much? Ever heard of fucking stuffing, you assholes? No wonder this place was so empty.

My dad laughs loudly at my dismay, the sound resonating loudly through the empty store, “Call _that_ a crash landing?” He chuckles. I scowl at him, brushing off my jeans, “Shuddup dad, nobody asked you.”

We walk in silence, just enjoying each other's company as I kick lightly at the beanbags on display. There're dog beds in the back of the store, and I wonder if Nico will be annoyed if I just buy one and stuff it in the billboard respite. Haven't been there in a while, actually; should probably get some shit to liven that up. But not until I get my room sorted – that's the priority right now.

I end up walking out with nothing, mainly because all the good crap's been raided. Poseidon pats my shoulder, moving to ruffle my hair, “What else, kiddo?” I fiddle with my seashell bracelet, “Think you can buy me a camera? I can print out photos at school and hang 'em up.” He brightens at the idea, nodding, “Sounds great! Give your room some character, huh?” I nod, “Yeah, totally.”

The pair of us discuss what I could take pictures of, how I'd mess around and angle my fingers weirdly like some expert and lisp in an accent about the _fung shway_ of my room. My stomach hurts by the end of it, and I don't think I've laughed this much since...since I left New York, really. It's a good feeling.

The sun beating on my back with its warmth, the air keeping me cool, and as we walk across the parking lot to the car, I watch a blue of green followed by three others zip by, a whoop resounding the empty establishment, “Fuck dude, you see my kickflip back there?!” Lou shouts over the wind.

Nico snickers, his voice drifting a little as he grinds along a handrail closer to the mall, “More like a shit tip, Lou, that was fucking _bad_.” A snicker echoes, and I think I see Will grip onto Cecil a little panicked as they circuit the entrance of the mall for a few minutes.

“What're we here for anyways, Death Prince?”

“I wanna get Perce somethin' 'fore I go back; I think there's some old CD's or whatever of this band he likes to listen to. Uh, The Wombats, I think.”

I feel my heart flutter at his thoughtfullness, and pretend I don't see him as he quickly scans the parking lot. My father chuckles at my puppy loving expression as I slip into the passenger seat, “Young love,” He teases, but looks genuinely pleased for me. I grin at him, “Not denying anything.” God, Nico's the best.

We restart the car, driving out of the parking lot. I glance in the rear view mirror, but Nico had already gone inside.

Poseidon hums to the radio, myself struggling to keep in laughter at the fact that my dad likes Katy Perry's new _Chained To The Rhythm_. His fingers drum on the wheel, mouth muttering the lyrics quietly as he bobs his head, “Livin' our lives through a lense,” He sings gently, “Trapped behind our white picket fence -” My dad then frowns, and switches stations, “I don't think I like that song so much anymore.” I snicker, despite not understanding why.

_My anaconda don't, my anaconda don't -_

“Never mind.” He turns the radio off. I let my laughter out behind my hand, “God – that one's old...what was that, were they playing twenty-fourteen hits?” Poseidon shrugs, pouting a little, “I remember when music was good,” He says wistfully, dramatically swishing his hand in my face, “When the classics played on the gramophone, oh, the orchestras, Percy!”

Snorting, I roll my eyes, “You aren't _that_ old, dad.” His green eyes sparkle mischievously, “You grandmother would call it _new age_ , though.” My eyes bulge, my inhale choking me, “What – seriously?” Poseidon punches my shoulder lightly, “Of course not. That's your _great_ grandmother.” I chuckle, shaking my head, “Of course, of course” Then I frown, “Who's my granny anyways?”

My father shrugs, “Grandmother Rhea – be lucky you'll never meet her. Fussy woman.” Raising my eyebrow, I smirk at him, “She have an interest in keeping the house tidy?” He colors pink, and grumbles a little, “Shut up, Percy.” I just smile and turn back to the road.

The wind continues to air out the car, and I feel it brush through my hair with the same delicacy the sun dances on my skin. It's a good feeling. Soothing, warm. “Do I have any other extended family?” I ask, curious. Mom never told me about anybody beyond herself and a little bit about my dad.

Poseidon nods, “Well duh. Why? You'll meet them around Thanksgiving, anyways.” He sours a little, distasteful, “Half of them are unmannerly assholes, anyways.” I chuckle a little, “I'll keep that in mind, dad.” He nods, “Good.” I fall into a silence, watching the buildings blur by. I don't remember coming to this part of the town, and find interest in the way everything up here was in a better condition than the rest of my home, but perhaps it's because it more of the retail area than the well-lived neighborhoods.

* * *

“Are you sure there's nothing else? You've got some more clothes, a poster or two, and that's it, Perce.” My dad worries. I nod, “Trust me – this is _more_ than enough, dad.” With that, he pats my head and sighs, “I'll leave you to get sorted, champ.” I nod, grinning as I close the door behind him.

I drag my bags to the closet and upturn them both and watch the clothing fall over my boots. I set my new jacket on the corner of the closet door, hang the tank-tops and shirts on the clothes hangers, pants folded and rested on the shelf at the bottom. I kick my sneakers a little more, until they wedge against my boots. Smiling to myself, I marvel at the camera that still sits in the bottom of my bag.

He took me to this really antique store where they sold things like tape recorders, old television sets that air static and sit in a wheeled frame because they were so heavy, and only played cable television or had to be manually hooked up to a game console. (I've decided that's the television I'm getting; it's got a good screen, plays in color – from what the little lady told me, and it's only sixty bucks right now.) And, one of the items on sale happened to be an Instant Polaroid Camera with a thick bundle of film that cost an extra five dollars. I snatched it up almost immediately, and the little lady – Janice, I should say, her name was Mrs Janice Oilwood who was the widower of her dead husband – told me that if I ever run out, that I should just come to her. She sells fifteen rolls of film for a dollar. Hell – do you _even know_ how much old shit costs now days? Hipsters' gotta be fucking _loaded._

Grinning at it, I carefully take the camera from the bag and settle it on my desk. I'll play with it in a while, I think, after I go downstairs and grumble at my dad until he gives me food. ~~Yes, us teenagers, the next generation~~.

On the other hand, I just sort of want to bask in my afterglow of the past hour and a half. I feel...accomplished, as I take some pins from my desk and grab my paper bag full of posters. Only a few, but I like them anyways. They're all just sort of beach themed, to be honest, but I have them and I love them. I tack them up above my bed.

Then I sit in the center of my floor, and smiling up at the ceiling.

A knock echoes from my window, and I turn sluggishly to see Nico frowning through the glass. I smile at him lazily, watching him paw at the window with disdain. “Peeercy....” He whines. Eventually, afters watching him struggle to stay up some more, I get up and open the window, “Hey baby, how you doin' -”

He jumps at me, knocking me against the desk. Nico punches my shoulder harshly, huffing, “Don't -” One punch, “Do that -” Two punches, “Again!” One punch. And then another, just for luck. I wince, and groan loudly as I rub my arm, “What the fuck, dude?” I look at him, to find him looking a little shaken up as he fiddles with his plastic bag wrapped package.

I reach out, and grab his hand, “You okay? Sorry I didn't let you in straight away, if that's the problem -” He shakes his head and sighs. Then he clumsily shoves the poorly wrapped gift at me, “Uh. Yours.” I laugh a little, ruffling his hair. I set it on the desk, and tug him over to my bed, setting him down, “Something got you spooked or some shit, babe?”

Nico scratches his nose and bounces right back up, “Nothin's sugar, just...” I watch him duck out the window, looking back down the street from the direction of the shopping district of town. Then he comes back in, shuts my window, draws the blinds. My room is now dark, but still homely. I don't mind it too much – I can still see, and that's all I care about. And the fact that Nico's panicked.

“Just...?” I prompt, coming to stand behind him and rest my chin on his head, hands clasped over his stomach. Nico shrugs, rocking back against me a little, “Nothin', just nothin', sugar.” _Sugar._ That's three times in a day, so far. And a little bit of yesterday. _Sugar_. I love it.

(One of the things I've come accustomed to about not only Nico, but also the rest of the group – excluding Will – start cutting of the ends of their wording a little during periods of excitement or...concern/weariness.)

Humming, I quietly doubt him as he peeks through the blinds. Then, he turns and pushes me back to the bed, dropping his gift into my lap, “Open it, c'mon, I wanna see if I did good.” I smile at him, shaking my head as I chuckle, “Fine, fine, don't sweat it, sweetheart.” He wrinkles his nose, “Sure thing, dollface.” he mutters dryly.

My fingers work quickly to tear away the plastic bag used as wrap, and felt something smooth...cold...square-like. I pull it out, and find three CD cases in my hand. The Wombats; album _A Guide To Love, Loss &Desperation,_ Lower Than Atlantis; album _Safe in Sound_ , The Front Bottoms' album _Talon of the Hawk_. I blink at them, grinning at the first two, and furrowing my eyebrows at the third one. The name rings a bell, but...hm.

Nico perches beside me, “Uh, that one's got that song you liked in it.” I raise an eyebrow, “Nico, babe, you've got a lot of albums on your phone with _that song I liked in it_.” He scowls at me, flapping his hands around a little, “Y'know, the one.” I frown, “Sing it for me.” Glowering, he glares at me. Batting my eyelashes, “Puh-leaaase? For me?” Huffing, he just tugs out his phone and taps around, until

_This is for the lions living in the wiry broke down frames of my friends bodies_

I squeal loudly, “ _THAT ONE!_ ” Much to his dismay, causing my boyfriend to flinch from me like a cat sprayed with water. I intake air deeply, and even my face. It doesn't last long, resulting in my face being sore from my grin, “That one. That's one of my favorites, thank you, Nico.” The pink dusting his cheeks induces a warmth in my stomach.

Brushing my fingers over the other two cases, I inquire, “How'd you know about these two?” Nico bonks his head on my shoulder, and pinches my thigh (I whine,) “Don't leave your phone were pick-pockets can get it.” I blink, then gasp loudly, feigning offense, “Nico! How could you riffle through my phone?!” He just huffs at me, “Just your music, geez.”

Leaning over, I peck his forehead, “Yes, yes, just my music, babe. Who knows, maybe you were looking through my search history, you creepy creeper.” Nico mutters incoherently under his breath, and curls up against my side, “Shut it, asshole.” I smile, chirping, “Love you too, babe.”

“Whatever.” I reach over and leave the CD cases on my nightstand, before rolling over onto Nico and hugging him tightly, “Thank you,” I whisper. He smiles down at me, running his hands over the collar of my denim jacket, “When'd you get this?” I shrug, “I've had it for a while.” He hums, and looks over to the camera on my desk, “What about that?” I grin, “Dad took me to town earlier; got me some clothes, a couple posters,” I point to the wall, “And that lovely camera you see over there.”

Snorting, he arches to kiss me, “Mhm, such a lovely piece of vintage crap.” I frown, “You have something exactly like it, shuddup.” He snickers in that cute, childish way, and nods, “True.” To retaliate, I jump up and grab my camera, and quietly ask him if he cans how me how to sort out the film. He nods, and shows me how to open the tray and place the film in.

Then he whirls around and snaps a picture of me, giggling a little, “You look like a lovesick pup, sugar.” He wafts the square of color that got shuddered out, and he settles it on his knee so we can watch the image develop on the black square.

I flick his nose at the comment, but watch in amazement. The color seeps to life – the red hue of the curtains behind me, the flash highlighting all the angles of my face, and it looks amazing. I love it. I love it so fucking much, and I immediately snatch my camera from him and take a photo.

He isn't smiling or anything, but he's staring directly into the lense, as if he could see my eye through the other side. Nico doesn't even blink when I snap the picture, “This is money well fucking spent, dude,” I breathe. Then I giddily swipe the photo in the air for a moment, and watch it develop in the same fashion the other one had. I'll look at it a bit more later, but for now I just grin at Nico, “It's fucking – dude, _dude._ ” He just raises an eyebrow at me, smirking, “You see why I like them so much now?” I nod eagerly.

Nico kisses me, sitting on my lap – after he moved the two photos. One of his hands lingers on my jaw, the other coming to rest on my shoulder. Bittersweet; cigarette ash and Red Bull. He nips at my lips, and I chuckle softly, kissing back as hard as he was. I fumble with my camera, and take a shot. Nico pulls back almost immediately, “Dear god, I'm going to kill you.” I laugh loudly, and hold the photo out of his reach when he tries to snatch it up.

“Nope! Mine! It's gonna go with the others in the closet!” I yell. He growls lowly, teeth gnashing unfriendily, “Asshat.” I nod, “Yours, though.” Huffing, he pushes off of me, but I see his smile, and he prowls over to the closet. Yanking it open, he blinks at the mirror hung on my door. Then I watch his crow eyes zero in on the little picture tucked near the corner.

“Holy shit you were adorable,” He breathes. Then he catches my gaze in the mirror, and smirks deviously, “What the fuck went wrong?” I pout, “Fuck off, scarecrow.” Sticking his tongue out, he swipes my photos and tacks them up around the mirror, “Like that?” I nod, “Good enough.”

As I lounge, he lingers. Nods approvingly at the rest of my closet – the clothes, the jacket on the corner of the other door, the shoes. Then he continues to scrutinize every grain of wood, and even picks a little at loose flakes. “What's up?” He shakes his head, then scratches his neck, “It's very bare.” I snort, “Well, yeah; I haven't used it for long.” Nico then sits down in front of it, cross-legged and resting his elbows on his knees. “True.”

There's a loud noise from outside, and he races for the window, peering through the blinds. He hisses, then pulls back – lips sucked over his teeth. I raise an eyebrow, “Are you seriously okay? You're worrying me, now.” Nico nods, pacing a little, “Sure – everythin's fine, fine, s'all good, sugar.” I stand up, grab his wrist, “Nico.” He groans loudly, slamming his face into his palms, “My uncle – he's coming over for the rest of the week, then he's...ugh,” He whines loudly, childishly, like a child defying parents. I raise an eyebrow, “He's what?”

Nico humphs, picking his shirt, “He's taking me away for the weekend.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 4th July very soon - know who's pumped? Me. I am. 4th July: bbq, suffering family gathering, running away with my boyfriend and making out in a closet - yes, yes please. Anybody else excited?


	14. The Hours Leading

_"Parents kill more dreams than anybody"_

\- Spike Lee

*

**CHAPTER FOURTEEN**

“I'd rather die than leave,” He says, as he turns away from the sun. The words themselves are morbid, but after a quick take of his character, they fit like broken puzzle pieces. The warmth returns with a brilliance, the faces back with a blinding vibrancy.

The statement doesn't sound right to my ears – like it was spoken through water, or a voice changer that sounded more like a girl with honey undertones to her voice than this boy.

For a moment, my companion _flickers_. And he _changes_ just for a brief for seconds. A thick braid over his shoulders, plush lips and a sinister darkness to her caramel-toffee eyes.

Then he's back; pale, chapped-lipped and countless millennia added to the dark rings of his black coffee eyes. “I'd rather die than rot here,” He says, as he turns back to the sun.

All is right with the world again, but something tells me not for long.

* * *

“What? But – I thought we're all going to the park this weekend?” Nico shrugs, “It...I mean, yeah, you _are_ , just...not with me. It was a last minute sort of thing, my uncle's just got back into the country from Greece on a business trip, and within that time a lot of shit's happened to his house and whatever, so he'll be staying here. And then I'll be going with him to help move his shit around and be his maid boy until Sunday.”

I frown, “I – uh, who's – who's your uncle?” Nico looks a little uncomfortable, and shrugs, “My uncle Erebus – some big time lawyer over in LA, so.” I curl around him, growling a little, “Short fucking notice.” My boyfriend hums, “I _did_ say last minute.” Shaking my head, I sigh heavily into his shoulder, “I don't like it.” He pats me with little solace, “Not the only one, douche.”

I plaster on a smile, breathing becoming even, “Okay, okay. So this...Airbus dude is coming looking for you, is that what you're telling me?” He nods miserably. Sighing, I try not to look as annoyed as I feel, “That's fine, babe, okay? I...we'll get in contact or something, yeah?”

Nico curls up some more.

“Well, if we can't,” I mutter, “Let's fuck up whatever we can now.” And suddenly he's cracking a grin, nodding like it was something he'd dreamed of doing, and bounced up. “A'ight – let's get goin', sugar!” Sighing, I roll my eyes, “Hold up, bouncing baby boy,” I catch his shoulders before he made a dive for the window, “We gotta lay low, right? So...” I feel heat rise to my face, eyes not meeting his, “Let's...go to a diner. Not McDonald's – he'll look there, huh?”

A sly smirk crawls onto Nico's face, “Are you asking me on a date?” I nod a little, but ultimately just lean back with my hands in my pockets, shrugging 'nonchalantly'. Because everybody likes a date on a Tuesday, right? Totally. They totally do.

Nico nods, presses up on his toes – wrists loosely linked behind my neck, his nose to mine - “Well, I like the sound of that,” Pecking me, he pulls back, “I know a nice meet and greet or whatever. Don't have to pay, though,” He snickers. I raise an eyebrow, “Nico...” He shrugs, and innocently, blinks at me, “I'm friends with the staff.” Of course. Of course he'd be friends with the staff, of course I'd jump to him running after eating.

I chuckle a little, “Sure, okay, babe. We just gonna go?” He nods, and grabs my hand, “All I need is _you_ , amore.” He bats his eyelashes exaggeratedly, causing me to laugh. I surprise him by pulling him close, twirling him around until we lean to the floor, “And I, you my love.”

We're silent for a moment, frozen. His dark eyes are glazed for a moment – funnily enough – before the stupefaction falls from his face and he snorts loudly, “Sap.”

Smirking, I vault out of the window and hold my hands up for him. As he lands in my arms, I set him on the ground and linger on his hand, “Only for you.” This time he punches my arm, rolling his eyes, “Desperate.” In reply, I wink, “Only for that ass.” Nico gasps, hand on his chest, “Scusi! I think you meant _my heart,_ thank you very much!” Smiling, I let him lead me along the slowly darkening streets. 

* * *

“There isn't much to say, sugar,” Nico tells me, linking our pinkies together. Sighing, I look up to the sky, “I know, I know. I just -” Shrug, that's what 'I just' do. Everything's so quiet in town right now, and it grates at me in this strange way.

Our boots scuff the sidewalk, occasionally kicking away stones or loose gravel. Our breaths are synced, Nico's softer than mine and the steady pace of his pulse runs through to his fingertips. Our eyes are anywhere and everywhere – to the sky that's dawning violet to the power-lines linking up the posts around town. It's peaceful.

“I'm just being stupid, that's all,” I finally conclude, much to Nico's dismay. His face falls in this heartbreaking way; eyebrows furrowing as his mouth falls into this tiny little frown that makes my heart squeeze, “That's not it at all, Percy. You're as stupid as a squid is a mammal, goddammit!” I smile at him softly, chuckling, “Okay -” He huffs, “No! Not fucking okay – you're smart as fuck, dude, and nobody gives you enough credit! Whatever –“ He fumbles, flailing his hand a little, “Uh, whoever the fuck told you that you ain't got nothin' in that head of yours don't have nothin' in theirs, I'll tell you right the fuck now!”

I smile at him some more, much to his frustration. “I really love you,” I murmur. His anger drains from his face, though redness of it still there. He blinks at me – I daresay shyly - “I – You? You...okay. That's cool.”

Chuckling, I swing our linked hands a little, “Chill, babe,” I tell him, “I know it's not true, okay? I'm just joking around.” Nico huffs, whacking me with his free hand, “ _Don't._ It's not fun being picked on for lack of braincells – you of all people should know,” I do, “So don't, okay?” I nod, then hum, gently asking, “Why is it such a touchy subject?”

Nico shifts, glowering at the sidewalk, “Cecil gets called dumb, y'know. And Lou, back in kindergarten. A lot of my friends do. Because we're different, and we do things differently. I hate it, s'all.” Nodding, I suppose that makes sense. Then, I clear my throat awkwardly, “What about...you? Did anybody ever call you stupid?”

He snorts, rolling his eyes, “Obviously.” Raising an eyebrow, I inquire, “Did that affect you? The same way you're affected by Cecil or Lou?” Sobering, he sighs through his nose, “Of course I did. It's a natural reaction to be angry when somebody challenges something you take pride in. I just. It came from _more_ than some asshat on the street.” I move, to fully hold his hand as we turn the corner.

“My dad used to call me stupid. Bianca, too, most of the time. It hurt me like nothing else, Percy, but you just gotta get over it and tell them to stick it up their asses.” I chuckle a little, but it falls when I see how serious he is, how much I've forced him to think back on sore memories. I wince a little. Nico scratches his nose, “My dad stopped because I proved him wrong. I wrote him this three-page letter, back to back, on how _wrong_ he was, and signed it by saying _I'm more than you'll ever be, and you're just an asshole_.”

I laugh at that, too, as he grins a little, “I do a lot of shit like that. It takes so much fucking effort, and I guess that's what lets me do it, let's me find humor in the idea that something so important to me can just...be thrown out.” Cocking my head, I glance at the little street of establishments we've walked upon, “What made Bianca stop?”

Nico shook his head, “She never stopped. We'd beat each other black and blue over it. She never stopped – called me _retard_ the day before she left.” My stomach turns cold, and I shift a little, “Oh.” He nods, then shrugs, “Nothing to it, really. We're here,” He turns violently into the place on the corner, and I look around in awe.

It's like a fucking 40's diner.

The curtains were drawn back, but covered in white polka-dots over yellow fabric. The floor was checkered black and white, the walls were covered with posters of long-ended carnivals and festivals, a few of the big games the state won or whatever. Along the small bar there were some red-rimmed stools, as well as the boots that lined the windowsill. “Wow,” I breathe. Nico nods, and tugs me over to the bar, so we can peer at the menu above.

Nico flicks at the little bell on the corner, the sound echoing in the empty establishment. “Comin' y'all, jus' give me a sec!” Nico grins as a young woman comes around the corner, from the kitchens. She had a bob that's died green at the ends, and eyes like winter evenings, “Sup, di Angelo. Who's your cutie?” He shrugs, “A friend who hasn't been blessed with your food.” I snicker a little, elbowing him. I hold out a hand, “I'm Percy. Nice to meet you...?”

She flips her hair a little, leans over to shake my hand, “Kayla Knowles. Will's older sis.” I grin at her pleasantly, “Good to know.” We pull back, my hand bumping against Nico's. I take care not to grab it, like I'm so tempted to do. Kayla leans on the counter, winking at Nico, “So you want your regular, I assume?” Nico nods, tapping his foot with the nonexistent beat in the air. Her eyes turn to me, raising an eyebrow, “Whatcha want, honey?”

Glancing at the menu, I ask for the first thing I see, “Grilled cheese? Please.” Kayla nods, and winks at us, “You cuties go sit down, your food an' drinks'll be out soon.” Nico waves as the woman disappears, and drags me to the booth closest to the _fucking jukebox._ I squeal a little internally. I regret not bringing my camera now.

“Nice place,” I comment quietly. Nico nods, leaning back into the worn leather, “Yup.” I kick him lightly under the table, “I sorta ruined the mood on the way in, huh?” He shakes his head, and smiles, “Nah. Just...tired, I guess.” He looks it, if I look close enough. Picking at the napkins a little, Nico sighs heavily, “Look, Percy...” I blink at him. He meets my gaze. “I don't wanna leave just as much as you don't. So...when I go, don't – don't treat like something big, no?” I nod and kick him again, “Duh.”

Nico grins at me, and Kayla chooses that time to come through the door with two dishes. One with my grilled cheese, the other was a bowl of fucking ice cream. I blink, “That's your usual?” He nods, thanking Kayla with more mannerism than I've ever seen him possess, to which she winks and pats out hands, “On the house, for you sweeties.” Before disappearing around the counter again.

I linger on my food, and as good as it looks, I don't taste much of it. Nico leisurely eats at his ice cream, savoring it with nonchalance that scares me, considering what we've just discussed. “Nobody ever called you names?” Nico finally asks. I nod, “Well duh, it's a guarantee, but...” Then I shake my head, huffing, “Just. Not in the way people seem to call you shit.”

He grins a little, stirring his spoon above the bowl, “Well, different backgrounds.” I nod, and finally find myself smiling, “True that.” Nico sips his drink – an icy cola, the same as mine – then cocks his head to peer out the window. Then he mutters, “Going to the bathroom, sugar.” And all but sprints for the little bathrooms at the back. I blink, and turn to peer out the window.

A bulking man strolls along the street; smothered in the shadows, a trench-coat swaying around his legs and a hat shadowing his face. All black, nothing that I can distinguish. But he glances once into the place, and his gaze lingers on me as I struggle to swallow my grilled cheese. The man turns into the shop, a definite purpose to his wide gate, and his heels clicking against the floor.

I find my blood running cold, and wonder if this is who Nico is hiding from. I wouldn't be surprised. Kayla hums back up to the counter, blinking once, twice at the man's tall figure. She plasters on a smile, “Howdy neighbor! What can I do you for?”

In a deep, gravelly voice not too unalike of Hades, he says, “Is Nico di Angelo here?” I shake my head wildly, but either the short haired woman didn't see me, or was ignoring me. Kayla peruses a little, leaning her elbow on the counter, “Who's askin'?” I shove the rest of my grilled cheese in my mouth, and peer over to find Nico's bowl empty. _Mission Runaway_ engaged. The man shifts a little, “Erebus di Angelo, his uncle. His father's looking for him.”

Shit.

Shit.

I literally watch the recognition flash on Kayla's face, and whatever she sees must match some resemblance to both of the di Angelos I know, because she starts nodding. I don't stick around to hear what she says, ducking into the guy's bathroom. Nico's pacing a little as I shut the door, “ _Dude_ ,” I hiss, panicked, “Your uncle's fucking _scary_. Like, your dad level of terrifying.” He grins at me for a second, nodding, “Family trait,” Before he clears his throat a little. I watch his eyes flicker from the window to the mirror.

“We gotta bounce, dude,” I hiss again. Nico nods, hands tangled in his hair, “Window's too small.” I look up at it, cursing him quietly. He's right. The window's barely a foot in width or length. Sighing, scratch my cheek, “Well we're fucked, then.” Nico nods, lacing his fingers and tapping his fingers on his pursed, “Yeah...”

And suddenly the door was opening behind me and a chill runs down my spine with the definite feeling of _we're fucked_ ringing in my head. “Nico? You in there?” And then I realize that he'd only opened the door a little bit. Nico is still, staring at the barely open door. Then he cracks this...unhinged sort of smile, relief lighting like wildfire over his face. Tiptoeing towards the window, he cranes his neck at it.

I hear 'Erebus' call back to Kayla, “You sure he's in there?”

Nico plants his hands on his hips, heaving a heavy sigh. Then he hops up onto the cubicle divider and tight-ropes over to it. I squint at him beckoning me up, and shake my head. Whispering, I jog over and hiss up to him, “I can't fucking fit, you dumbass.” Nico rolled his eyes, “You'll fit, trust me.”

I wince, shaking my head. Nico nods. Sighing, I climb up, holding tightly onto the divider and nearly shriek as the flimsy fucking plastic _wobbles._ “I want to fucking kill myself, holy shit,” I mutter under my breath. Nico smirks at me, popping the window open and slipping through.

And, okay, I get that. He's fucking slender and agile, like a damn bird – made of thin bones and sinewy muscle. I watch his nimble fingers latch onto the windowsill until he drops down. Now how am I getting through? Fucking asshole. My boyfriend's stupid as shit. ~~Perfect as shit~~.

“Nico,” I call quietly, sticking my head through the window. He winks at me, only about five inches from the window, “C'mon, swimmer, get your ass down.” I blink at him, “How'd you know I swim?” Raising his eyebrow, Nico huffs, “That jacket you wear sometimes. That, and your fucking physique, dumbass. Now get your ass in gear.”

I groan, and flail my arms a little as my shoulders get stuck, “I hate you.” Nico grins, grabbing my hands, “You love me.” and _tugs_. I bite back a squeal and feel my weight just drop into nothingness. Until it's Nico's arms around me, and his wolfish grin smiling down at me. Then he fucking lets go and I fall on my ass. “Fucking dick.” He nods, proud, oddly.

“Now c'mon, we gotta bounce – _fuuuuuuuck._ ”

The tall guy in the diner was waiting by the end of the alley, on the phone. I turn tail, hooking my hand around Nico's elbow and aimlessly delving deeper into the alley. He struggles against me, trying to stop me. “Dude, trust me, don't fucking go down here -”

“But we can't get you caught by your fucking creepy stalker uncle, can we?” Nico gives me a serious look, “Seriously, Percy -” We turn a left and my blood runs cold for the second time that evening.

It's just black. Dark, the sun not reaching anything in the alley.”What the fuck.”

Nico scratches his nose, arm in front of me as I try to step into Alley Of Fuck All. “The ground's not there, you fucking retard,” Nico sighs heavily, “A sink hole a few years back, that's all. Just not safe.” I sigh, nodding, “Well, what're we gonna do now?” He grins at me, this excited light illuminating his eyes, “We're gonna scale it.” I raise an eyebrow, “How the fuck're we gonna do that? There's a six foot brick at our other exit, and if we make so much as a _grunt_ , he'll fucking hear us.”

Nico winks again, “Don't you worry sugar, I got it down fucking _iced._ ” Then he grabs my hands, soothingly, thumbs brushing over my knuckles and starts stepping backwards with definite, purposeful steps. A thing that I've seen in him all along, but am only now just linking to Hades' own way of walking, and hell, what I saw of Nico's uncle. I silently draw a red string from Nico to Hades in my head, the words _purpose_ loosely linked along it.

But I'm hesitant, my heart pumping loudly and Nico's heels brush the starts of _absolutely fucking nothing_. He seems to understand what's going through my head, his hands squeezing mine, before his foot steps into it fully. There's a long, aching groan; I wince with a force that you could probably hear the hiss escaping my teeth. Nico snickers, and steps back a bit more. He's descended above the nothing, and he's almost fading from what sunlight there is in these fucking alleys, and my heart's stuttering staccato beats, the blood's alive and boiling in my veins and dear god he's gone, he' gone, I don't know where he is, all I have is his fucking disembodied hands like what the fuck -

“Perce, sugar, step forward. Just like I did.”

Fuck no. Uh-uh. Nope.

My feet mechanically shuffle forward, there's something solid under my feet, but I can already feel the edges of whatever I'm standing on. “Nico -” He chuckles softly, and there's more creaking as he shuffles along, tugging me along with him gradually, “Chill, Percy. We're almost to the other side, it's fine.”

I force a deep sigh, “But I can't see you.” There's a sound that resembles a hum, agreeing, “I can't see you either.” That's reassuring. “Fucking lovely.” I grit out. Nico cackles a little loudly, and suddenly there's footsteps shuffling from the mouth of the alley, back by Kayla's diner. I hold my breath as we move.

Nico doesn't make a sound, but he continues to pull me along. I don't dare look back until suddenly Nico's silhouette is in front of me, and there's light behind him; it's like we're in an entirely new location.

The air fails me as my feet meet concrete. “Holy shit -” I don't know who said it first.

Nico's staring back into Fuck All Alley, and I've craning my neck to the back of Octavian's apartment building. Next thing I know, Nico's got my wrist in an iron grip, and we're vaulting up onto a dumpster and he's shoving me at the ladder to a fire escape, “Fretta!” I have no idea what he's saying, but he's frantic, and I hoist myself up and throw myself up the ladder – two at a time. “Niccolo? Sei tu? Dove stai correndo, nipote?” Somebody calls. It doesn't take much to figure out who it is.

My boyfriend's on my tail, me climbing after him until he knocks on a window. I pant a little beside him, watching Nico's uncle step from Alley O' Fuckin' Nothin', looking around with furrowed eyebrows. I still can't see much of his face, but he's definitely got those high cheekbones that both Nico, Hades (and what I've seen of Bianca) possess.

A blur of red comes to the window, and the glass rattles in the frame a little as Rachel tears it open, “Hey guys!” Nico slams a hand over her mouth, “Give me some place to hide?” The artist rolls her green eyes, stepping aside to let us in. She winks at me with a grin, “Howdy neighbor.” People seem fond of that term over here.

Nico shuts the window, pulls the blinds and groans loudly into his hands. “I hate my fucking life,” He groans.

Rachel pats his head, and weaves her way through the scrunches of paper laying around the couch, “Wanna drink or nah?” She asks breezily, apparently not put off by our brusque visit. Nico nods, “Gimme the stuff.” Our artist friend rolls her eyes, jogging over the kitchenette, “Sure. What 'bout you, Jercy?”

Right. _Jercy Packson._ Fuck. At some point, I need to tell her my name's Percy.

Instead, I shrug, suddenly back to my shy and polite self – I've only been here once before, and me and Octavian didn't exactly get on well.

“Just water.” Rachel nods solemnly, “Water it shall be, mon ami.” Nico scoffs, “Enough with those fucking haikus, you fucking Apollo praise.” She giggles a little, wriggling paint-stained hands at him, “Stuff it, Death. 'Sides, they're not haikus, they're just rhymes.” Nico rolls his eyes, sauntering to the coffee table and poking at her freshest work.

I look at the weird, stripped tights she's got on, and the large, grungy shirt. It's like looking at a quirky person from the back, with springy red hair and freckles all over her arms, but as she glances back at us and converses with Nico, her ghoul-green eyes sear into my skull. I hate it, no offense, Rachel.

“Octi's not home, if that's who you're looking for, Neeks.” Nico shrugs, “S'fine. Just hiding.” She saunters back with a glass of water and a can of Red Bull. You can guess who that's for. Chuckling, I take the water kindly, thanking her with what of my voice I can find. She punches me a little, snorting, “Dude, take a chill pill -”

“Nobody fucking says that no more, Rach.”

“Says the kid from a fucking 40's magazine.”

I chuckle a little at them, peeking out the blinds, “I think he's gone, babe.” Rachel stills, blinking at me widely, excitement in her creepy-ass eyes. Nico hums, sipping his drink, “That's fine. We'll be bouncing soon anyways – I wanna go see Hazel at some point 'fore I leave.” I nod, feeling gloomy. There's a silence, until Rachel goes,

“ _Babe?_ ”

And I just imagine a camera zeroing in on my face, the lines _And it was this moment he knew he fucked up_ being read out by Morgan Freeman, or some overzealous _noble, dude!_ kinda voice voicing over the image of my face completely fucking done with this universe.

I just wanted a date with my hot, funny, lovely boyfriend.

Just one date before he left for the weekend.

 _One_.

Nope, sorry Perce, looks like the motherfucking Gaia can't be assed to give you a piece of mind today, so deal with all this bullshit instead.

“Oh holy Hera, this if fucking canon, I love it.” What. The first thing I process is, “Holy...Hera?” Nico waves his hand at me, sipping his drink, “Jason's mom.” Squinting, a stare at them both, “Holy Jason's mom?” Rachel waves her hand at me, too, shrugging, “Just a thing, dude. Chill.”

Fucking chill. Sure. Yuppers.

Nico's phone goes off before our redheaded host can question me any further on my slip-up. “Fuckkk,” Nico scowls.

“Ciao,” He finally answers. The voice in return is low, baritone, level, “Nico. I want you home, now.” I can't tell if it's Hades or Nico's uncle anymore, shit - “Erebus can't find you anywhere, and you were meant to be home tonight, you know better.”

Nico hangs up, stretching, “Well, lovely, lovely.”

* * *

We end up staying longer, due to the sudden arrival of Spindly Anemic with his creepy fucking eyes. “Jercy,” Octavian had purred, almost pleasantly, and I shrunk beside Nico on the couch. Rachel snorted, “Jerky, actually.” Great.

Nico nudges my knee every once in a while, but other than that, it's been the blond spitting acid in Nico's direction for lack of firework payment from last Friday. “Take a Valium, you fucking stiff – I got 'til Friday to give you fireworks. You never specified a time.”

Octavian tuts, rolling his eyes from where he perched on the arm chair. Rachel hums a little from my other side, smiling and I find her eyes somewhat hospitable. Her paint brush leaves arks of red on her canvas, and I still have no idea what's she's painting. Birdman huffs from the armchair, crossing one leg over the other, “Smart ass, fucking adrenaline junkie.” I clear my throat a little, scratching my cheek, “He's been okay this week,” I mutter.

Crow eyes than silently ask me _why did you start talking, I had this_ , and I learn to regret my decision as Octavian's icy eyes flare with interest. He leers a little, raising an eyebrow, “Gone soft, have we, di Angelo?” Nico scoffs, “In your dreams, Bird Bones.” I wince a little, and try to make up for it, “He, uh, well, school's been ditched a lot.”

Nico pinches my knee.

Octavian snickers a little, like a hairless cat sneezing, “School? Pathetic.” His eyes slide back to Nico with voracious intent, “Somebody's scared you, haven't they Nico? Thrown you off your sick little game.” Nico rolls his shoulders, smirking this wolfish cynicism, “Depends. Who do you think can shake me? You? Take a breath and smell the reality, you fucking deluded -”

“It's your sister, isn't it? She's contacted you?”

Nico snorts, standing with his hands in his pockets. A relaxed ose, rocking back on his heels, “My sister's dead and deep in the dirt, Octavian. You think some ghost's gonna spook me?” He bends forward a little, imposingly threatening above such a skeletal person. I worry, though for who, I don't know. Rachel anchors me, her hand on my knee, keeping me back.

“News flash, you mole rat,” Ha, “Ghosts aren't real.” Octavian smirks like a cat and dog scenario – the cat teasing the dog from an unreachable place, watching the rabid canine bark until its throat goes raw. “You think a ghost is all she is, di Angelo? It's quite fucking clear that Bianca -” Nico slams a hand to his throat, pinning him against the back of the couch, “Don't you fucking _say her name_ , you bastard.”

Octavian wheezes, but still grins, “Fucking di-disgrace, di Angelo,”

Rachel finally lets go of me, and I jump up to pull Nico back. He trembles under my grip, “I think that's enough for today.” Octavian gasps, rubbing his neck, “Adrenaline junkie falling down the drain, that's what you are, d-di Angelo.”

Rachel walks us to the door, wary, and lingers a little. Nico turns tail, catching her wrist and peering down at her, “Come with us?” I watch the nerves dance under her skin, the anxiety flashing in her haunting eyes, “No, no. somebody's gotta keep him in check, right?” Nico hums a little, “Call me, any time, you hear?” She nods, and smirks, “I'm tougher than your lil' Lou, Nico.” He nods, scratching his cheek, “Right.”

As she closes the door, I catch, “Lying embarrassment, di Angelo!” 

* * *

“So.” I breathe heavily, glancing at him as we roam out of Octavian's neighborhood. “So,” He echoes faintly, strolling at a quick, measured gait along the sidewalk.

“That was something,” I say. Nico shrugs, examining his nails a little, “For you, maybe. Octavian off his blues, for you.” I furrow my eyebrows, “Blues...like, pills? Depression?” Nico nods, then shakes his head, “Blue pills. Abilify, for anti-psychosis. Though anti-psycho fits better.” I nod, and add that little smidge of info to Octavian's picture in my head. It answers a lot of questions. “Oh.” Is all I say.

My boyfriend chuckles a little, pressing up to peck my cheek, “Oh for Octavian, more like.” I groan, slinging an arm around him, “Fuck yourself, Nico.” He purred deeply, batting his eyelashes, “I'd rather you do the honors.” My face heats, and I turn my head so he doesn't see the reaction he's gotten. The sun is heavy, low, and all I can really bring myself to do is just breathe in the salt-tainted air.

Nico pulls out a cigarette as we turn a corner, covering the flame. I watch it dance against his skin, the way the ashen pallor of his flesh ignites into a golden red, molten, wildfire. And then it's gone; the lighter returned to his pocket and his hands pale like death and veins green in the backs of his hands. I grab it, interlock our fingers. He's just...i don't know. Not _pretty_ , not really. But _beautiful_ doesn't cut it either, and that's when I realize that I'm using delicate phrasing for something ravenous.

His eyes swallow whatever light reached them, his lips ruddy and chapped. The way his eyelashes flutter against his cheekbones is something that makes my heart stutter, the methodical tempo to his breathing matches the definite echo of he feet on the sidewalk. I'm lucky to have his hand in mine, honestly.

I smile to myself, and let myself revel in the moment. After a while, he pulls out his phone and nudges me, “Boyfriend. Give me your number.” I snort, rolling my eyes, “Such courtesy.” but I dig out my own phone, and we go through the grueling process of reciting numbers and finding them on his keypad after bickering that _no, it's a fucking seven you dumb cunt, do you not see the way it does the thing?_ And _no, bitch, I know my damn number and I'm saying it's a goddamn two you little shit_.

C'est la vie, or some shit.

And then he texts me something that resembles

**Dorky Bad Boy sent:**

_**fcuking lil bitch.** _

**At 07:23 PM**

And if typing that name into my phone wasn't another entirely different can of worms, well boy let me tell you. _No, dorky is spelled with 'ck' you fucking prick,_ and _Percy, I swear to fuck, it's spelled with a 'c'._ So that was fun.

But it's worth it, to have his number and be able to contact him during our separation. I know I make it sound dramatic, a heartbreaking scenario I'm enduring, but to me it is. I've just gotten happy here, with a stable semi-routine and a new start. And now the main reason to all of that is bouncing all the way to fucking Arizona or Nevada or whatever for the weekend, which is such fucking bullshit, I don't know what to say or how to stop it.

Looking at him, how he's just this teenager with purple bags under his eyes and a swish to his hips that's so carefree it'd be a crime to ruin it, I just see exactly him. Nico, a kid in a big world. But then I look back at all that I've come to know about him, via himself or connections, and know it's still a facade that makes me miserable.

The air is warm breezes and fading daylight, our palms are tightly locked together. It's like a scene from a fairytale, or a romance movie. I'm a sucker for that.

Nico smiles at me a little, and I come to terms with the fact that I'm in over my head.

* * *

As we near our street, I pull out a cigarette and share the lighter's flame that Nico emits. He smirks at me, “I'm 'round 'til Friday, Shark Bait. Don't fret.” I sigh a little, doldrums and doleful, but I smile, “I know, don't worry. I'm just...i dunno. But I'll see you tomorrow?” Nico nods and punches my shoulder. He stops us before we come into view of his home's windows, and kisses me roughly, like he always does. Lips there for a fraction of bittersweet lingering, before he pulls back and winks, “You'll live two days, sugar.” I sigh heavily, once again. “If you say so, babe.”

Winking one more time, he lifts his cigarette in this half-wave, before sauntering off to his door. I hurry to my own, and try not to turn back and hightail it out of there with him when I hear Hades' voice carry with anger.

Shutting the door behind me is an effort, and ignoring what I think might happen next is worse. So when I get into my room, I drag the blinds closed and pretend there isn't more yelling in a language I don't know outside my house. He wouldn't like me getting involved, is what I tell myself. Really, I'm quaking in my boots.

Sluggishly, agonizingly slow, I shuck off all my clothing and pull my Hard Rock sweater over my head. It already smells of Nico, and as I look down, I have to make sure it isn't his. It's not. Slate-gray instead of fluffy cream, and fits me more than his ever will. A yawn makes its way out of my mouth, and it's sad to say that the minute my head hits the pillow, I'm lights out.

* * *

Nico's eye twitches occasionally, and he's into his fourth cigarette this morning. My arm's around his shoulders, his frustration coming off him in waves. “What happened?” I ask, as we stroll the blocks to school.

He shrugs a little, rubbing his wrist. It's just ache, or so he says, and he got the red mark on his cheek from playing too roughly with Hazel. It looks like a hand print. I keep that piece of information to myself. My boyfriend waves his cigarette around a little, the smile on his face tense and the words gritted out from his mouth like acidic vinegar.

“But yeah, so Lou wants to hang out or something tonight, if you're up for it.” I shrug, “I'll think 'bout it.” He nods, scuffing his shoes a little. To be honest, I don't really want to. I just, as selfish as it is, want to take him somewhere quiet and maybe try that date thing again. I dunno. But, it seems forced, sort of. I have a literal deadline here, and I just want to...I don't know. I don't fucking know.

I squeeze his hand, cocking my head at him, “You okay? You sound beat.” Nico scratches his nose, quiet. Then he squeezes back, bumping against me a little, “I'm fine, sugar, just tired. Packing last night.” I nod, feeling my jaw tense, before I nod, “Okay. If you say so.” He nods with me, and nearly glares at the school building in front of us, “I do.”

We make our way into the building, for once, and mill around his locker until the bell rings. Nobody's here, which I find sort of odd, until Nico informs me that we're really early. He leans against me, closing his eyes. Settling me cheek on his head, there's a silence between us that I need to fill. But I don't, unaware of how to do so. Nico smiles after a while, the expression not reaching his crow eyes. “Erebus says I'll be helping him out 'round the office, or some shit. A fucking intern, basically.”

I hum quietly, sulking at the linoleum under my feet, “Sounds boring as shit.” He nods, running a hand through his hair, “Totally. But,” He brushes our hands again, leaning towards me with that endearing little smile that doesn't quite fit his features (but I love it anyway,) “That's what we've got phones for, right? Keep me company in Nevada, sugar.” He purrs gently. I chuckle softly, nuzzling his nose, “Sure thing, babe.” And the moment's wonderful, y'know? Just, me and and him, that's it. Us.

I pull my camera from my bag, and knock our heads together before I say, “Smile.” he does so, pleasantly, and I think we get a pretty cute image against the red lockers. I stuff the photo in my pocket, “Love you.” He nods, “Ditto.” I flick him for that, “Fucking asshole.” He just grins, preening a little, “I mean, I'd like you to be.” It takes me a second, before I release a long, drawn out sigh, “You and me both, babe.”

I watch the surprise choke him a little, and he laughs loudly in that bell-like titter I'm addicted to. “Fuckin'...god.” Nico tutts, rolling his eyes, “So immature.”

I bring him into a hug, rolling my eyes, “You love me.” Nico raises a teasing eyebrow, and gasps when I squeeze his ass (so fucking juicy.) “Handsy.” He scolds, slapping my hands. Nuzzling his hair, I sigh, “Don't want you to leave. He shrugs, then pecks my cheek, “You have me 'til Friday.” I nod, “Damn right I do.”

And for the days leading to his departure, I have no idea what I'll do. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter is a Nico Recap, as is every five chapters! I'm thinking about including Grover in a Skype Call to Percy at some point while Nico's away, maybe? I don't know, not entirely sure yet - because I'm bad and I make stuff up as I go along. Anything that would spice this up a little bit while Nico's away? Or something I can include from Nico's POV for Chapter 20 (if there is one,) from Nico's time with Good Ol' Uncle Erebus?
> 
> While I _am_ thinking of Bianca coming into play, I'm not entirely sure I want it in this fic. Would any of you be opposed to me making this a series? Like, this is part one, Bianca in part two...y'know. I'm just juggling ideas right now, because I don't want this to drag on forever all in one fic, and my head's exploding with ideas.


	15. Balefully Busy - So Nothing New

_I've always liked tomorrow;  
_ _you haven't made any mistakes yet._

\- Atticus

*

**CHAPTER FIFTEEN**

Beside me, my companion once again flickers. One minute he's definite and purposeful; a defiant presence refusing to fade into the background. There and alive, an inconvenience to many who don't understand the depth of his stare.

Next thing I know, he's a small little boy. A black ring forming around one of his crow eyes, blood crusting the seam of his mouth. Young, and wild, a desperation to see the  _more_ and the  _worth_ that he has been fed throughout his young years.

And after that, he's a familiar image from a sketchbook; smaller than before, scratchy wings that drag along the ground and a wolf head over his own. A crippling sense of dread seeping from him like a nonphysical miasma. 

Then, it's all back to normal, myself blinking with bewilderment. Beside me, my companion is lost in the sun, and how much of it he can swallow. The answer is dubious, for I only know the front he puts on and not the depth below. He could consume more than the sun, for all I know.

I turn to it, and feel his fingers lock with mine, “There's nothing up there, Percy.” He's right.

* * *

I unwrap Lou's lollipop leisurely, popping it into my mouth: cola flavor. I hum a little, and smile around my treat at my boyfriend as I find him gazing at me with a grin. As Will ruffles my hair, I just think Percy looks wonderful in the light filtering through the window. “You just described nowadays,” Cowboy chuckles, to which I nod, “Essentially.”

Cecil snorts, says something, Lou whacks him a little with a retort. Percy looks lost, his head hurting from politic-talk. I'm amused by his expression, and chuckle. As I open my mouth, a tease on my tongue in loving amour, a paper ball smacks my face. No need to ask who it's from, I saw the bitch fucking throw it from my corner view. Damn Tanaka. As unimpressed as I am, my frustration is quelled by the way Percy's lips purse in attempts to hold back laughter. At least he's trying to be courteous.

“Motherfucking bitch,” I mutter, finding Tanaka across the classroom. She has the audacity to look directly at me with her flirtatious _nerve_ , tossing her fake hair at me. With boredom pushing me, I unravel my 'present' and sigh heavily at the pink, lacey writing. Will leans over, “Tanaka's writin'.” No shit, detective. I run a hand through my hair, fighting an eye-roll. That'd be rude. Percy receives a spark of genius and slips my green sheet from his textbook. I begrudgingly slap it over the pink vomit.

The words bounce around a little, even with the green sheet, but I do my best. “You act...really tough, but...” I fucking hate this, “Really, you're just a...sad loser,” I think I know where this is going, “With daddy...” I don't even read what it says next, just filling in the blanks, “Maybe if...you kill yourself...he'll be proud.” I sigh, leaning backin my chair, chewing the words over in my head. Then, sudden idiosyncratically, I snicker, “I mean –“ Standing up, all eyes swivel to me in my moment of immaturity, “You're not wrong,” I see her eyes widen, face flushing as immediate attention is split between the pair of us, “I'll give you that, bitch.” And then I throw her words back at her, and smirk at the how _hurt_ she looks, just from me yelling across a fucking classroom.

Brunner tries to intervene, like he always does, the decrepit man. No language is tolerated, blah blah, sit down. I watch him fluster, glancing between me and Tanaka. Empty threats of calling home, gross behavior, whatever.

And, this will possibly be the only time I will ever work in sync with Drew. We share this miniscule sort of smile, before shrugging, “You can try; doubt anybody will care.”

I watch Percy's face fall a little, but I lean back against my chair and ignore it. I don't want to deal with it right now, not when I'm so fired up. I focus on the doodles on my notebook, and ignore whatever is conversed between my _enemy_ and the teacher. I couldn't give less of a fuck, if I'm honest. Will and Lou mutter to each other quietly, Cecil's up in front doing god knows what, and Percy? Well, he's still facing backwards in his chair, and grabs my attention by tapping my foot. Whispering, he inquires, “You going to that detention?” What detention? Shit, did Brunner issue a detention? Fuck.

A course of jumpiness runs through me, foot tapping under the table as I settle my pen on the desk. “Yes,” I finally reply. Incredulous, he asks, “Really?” No, I probably wont, not really. It's just something I'm telling myself to make myself feel better. I nod. Nod again, turn to the window and glare at the sky, “I've ignored the other four. One more time and I'm booted out for three weeks.” I explain. His eyes widen a little, before he furrows his eyebrows with a _that's stupid_ expression, “Seriously?” Yes, seriously, you fucking adorable dumbass. I sigh heavily, and nod a final time, “Major things – getting detention with the principal.” I'm a fucking wimp, I'm scared, jesus christ, “I...I don't want them to call my dad again.”

Something clicks in his head, and he tries to reassure me with a smile. It doesn't really work, but I appreciate it. And it shows the dimples in his cheeks, so that's a bonus. “It can't be that bad, right?”

I don't answer.

Instead, I play with my lighter in my pocket, until I watch Tanaka ready another paper ball my way. I catch it mid-ark. I jutter out most of it in a hushed voice, but I know she's got me where it hurts when I read out, “Because they're scared.” And I know they are, she knows they are, but it doesn't stop me from glancing at the three of them. I see the usual; timid defiance against the words, and Lou's not meeting my eyes anymore. But...I look to Percy, because who the fuck knows with him, and I see – I see...confusion. And not much else; nothing denying it, nothing that says that it's not true, that he loves me. Ha. My heart drops into my stomach.

I jar up a little, school my expression as I drop my gaze. I mutter out the rest of her note, reserved, defeated. She's right. All that _you're alone_ bullcrap? She's right. She's always got more dirt on me, always got a new way to get at me, and I need to up my fucking game.

Just not today.

“Fuck that shit,” I growl quietly, chucking the paper out the window. Now nobody's looking at me. Not Will, not Cecil. Only Percy, and I no longer know how to feel about that. Blindly, I shove my crap into my backpack and make a b-line for the door. I don't have the mental composure to deal with this shit today. Brunner clears his throat in this irritation way that only proves my point, and I grab the handle. “Did I dismiss you Nico? I don't believe I did,” Patronizing motherfucker is what he is, he can go fuck a horse.

I shrug, lasting long enough to quip, “I mean, no, but I couldn't give a fuck about whatever spiel you're blabbing, so...” With that, I pull the door open and let it shut behind me.

Upon entering the hall, it's deathly silent and I fucking hate it – only my heart that's beating far too fast in my chest, and the hitch to my breathing that throws me through a loop of befuddlement. I carry myself in a hurry, trying to reach for the doors. They're right there, just there, only a few more steps. I stagger into a locker, lean against it and struggle to count to ten.

One -

Why am I like this? What's going on, why am I panicking like this?

Two,

Three,

Four -

Fuck, fuck, fuck, I can't breathe. Shit. This isn't me. Why am I almost crying?

Five,

Six -

Get yourself together, Nico, goddamn. Stop being a fucking baby; you don't have a mom that'll kiss it better, idiot, get over it. Fuck.

Seven -

I lean heavily against the lockers now, in fear that my knees will buckle. My chest is tight, throat tighter – my vision's swimming, eyes pricking with tears. Shit. Shit. I bite my lip, stuttering breaths as I try to continue counting. Three numbers, and you'll be fine, Nico.

Eight -

I want to punch something. I clutch a hand in my hair, tugging it harshly. The tears subside, but my lungs are clogged with frustration. They say you'll have mood swings during your teen years, but I don't think this is what they meant. I grit my teeth.

Nine -

I hear, “Mr Jackson, Mr di Angelo, return to class, now,” Before I hear Percy's steps slap against the linoleum flooring. That mint aroma comes into range, and Percy's presence is large and welcoming behind me. He moves to sit by my feet, and he cranes his neck to look up at me patiently. I blink down at him, offer him a small smile. I'm not capable of anything else. I slide against the locker, sitting beside him; knees to my chest, fingers caught in my hair.

I feel his arm around me, pulling me close. Comfort. I can breathe. Breathe in mint and breezes, and just general _Percy_. My heart falls into regular staccato. He asks me something along the lines of what's wrong, and I answer, subdued, with something that could be found in an Avenger's Comic from Hulk.

Ten.

He asks if I have cigarettes on me, I pull the box out. I light one, take a hit, and breathe it back out. I hum a little, untensing under his arm. Percy smiles down at me softly, and he seems oblivious to the outrage back in the classroom only a few feet away. After a while, I apologize. Percy just shakes his head, still with that dumb smile that makes my stomach convulse,

“Nah. C'mon, let's bounce. Go somewhere quiet?”

* * *

Sitting in the rustbucket for a car is the best place to be in the junkyard, I think. Smoking a cigarette alone in the driver's seat with the view of Percy on the hood is always a nice thing to just quietly enjoy.

Cecil's lounging around on the log with Will; Lou's restless with boredom, kicky-upping an empty bottle. Percy smiles at me through the broken windscreen and reaches through to grope at my dwindling pack of smokes. I let him. It's not like I can't get more. I love his smile, how he lingers a little more on me, before going to chuckle at Will's comment of, “This hell-hold's destine for rot, I'm tellin' ya.”

It's interesting to watch my boyfriend survey my friends, and see what he sees, and link things together or take things away to try another theory. I prop my feet up on the wheel, his face conflicted as he falls deeper into thought. I wonder what he's trying to process. Then I find that I don't really care, and take another hit from my cigarette.

A few minutes pass; Cecil groaning some more that I need Octavian to hook me up with some more Mary Jane, then Lou and the pothead getting into a fickle that ends with Will telling them both to shut it. From my respite in the car, I climb through the windscreen. I perch a little closer to Percy than what is really safe, and chuckle, “Careful”, He blinks at me, shaken. I grin, nodding to where he'd been glowering, “You'll evaporate the Styx with you glare.” He winces, an apologetic smile on his face, “Sorry, just thinking.”

Then, he says this really off-putting thing that makes me want to kill who joked about it. “I know, I know – don't hurt myself, and my head's too full of seaweed to think straight.” Everybody turns to look at him, myself furrowing my eyebrows. Because, honestly, what the fuck?

Realization is a cold chill down his spine, mortification on his face. Lou speaks for me, genuinely confused, and sounding a little bit more than just irritated with this revelation. IN response, he fumbles a little, nearly hiding behind me, “Uh – shit, just...uh, a – it's a thing my old...friends used to...to say.”

And in a moment of compassion, I clumsily ruffle his hair, “I don't think you'll hurt yourself.” Because, he wont. It's pretty obvious he's got brains if he's managed to make sense of this new environment and not collapsed under the pressure yet. He can adapt, he knows how to learn quickly and understand what's accepted or denied. “I think you're pretty smart. And it's physically impossible to have seaweed in your brain without dying. So, that's that.”

Lou agrees, along with Sunshine and pothead, so I think I've gotten my point across. Percy laughs, leaning against me a little more. I smile softly, catching his gaze. “Thanks guys,” I don't know if it's just me being hopeful, or if it was a trick of the light, but he didn't look away from me once as he said that.

I drop my dead cigarette, invading his personal space to sprawl across his lap, “Don't let nobody screw you over with _words_ , Percy.” He nods, and rests a hand on my chest, “Wont' happen again, I promise.” I nod, and close my eyes.

* * *

Cecil throws a snail at Lou.

I tell her it's a slug.

She storms off to find revenge.

Will and Cecil go hide out somewhere to avoid her wrath.

* * *

A little later, after he's kissed me and we've giggled about bullshit, I get the sense that something's wrong. He's got a knit to his eyebrows, and he's hesitant to tell me anything. Mid way through a sentence, I cut in,

“Are you mad?”

And from his reaction – wide eyed, concerned – I gather that he's not entirely certain if he is or not, despite his exclamation of, “Why would I be mad?” Pulling back, trying to be uncaring of his answer, I shrug,y'know, like the little shit I am. I give him a few pointers why he may be upset with me, and Percy's quiet, and I'm regretting digging this up, and I'm deeply afraid of his answer, and I'm anxiously waiting for his response, and I'm digging my nails into the log under us, and I'm just -

His thumb idly brushes the scabs on my fingers, and I flinch a little when his thumb gets caught. “I'll never be mad at you for that.” Liar. Percy, I don't...I don't think he understands that the future is always questionable – who knows if one day he'll find that anger or not? “Though...” Of course there's a 'though', of course there's a hesitation that lingers on his tongue and I hate it, I hate it, I'm _fucking terrified_.

“I'm...disappointed, I think.” Oh. _Oh_. I see. He's going down this route. I chew on my lip, biting back anything that'd deter him.

Sweetly, as if he isn't about to be a complete ass and go into the wrong area and deal with me being an asshole to him for the next ten minutes, he carefully takes my lip from my teeth and smiles. He has the nerve to chuckle a little, “Just...I think you really could _be something_ , y'know?” I feel like shit. His words are making me feel like shit, and I shouldn't be letting Percy's words hurt me as much as they are, because I know he isn't aware that he's treading on thin ice, I know he's oblivious to this being a sore subject, but it _hurts_ , goddammit. “Not that you aren't already,” As if that makes it better. “But...you waste so much talent that could get you places –“ Motherfucker, I will cut you, “To find all those _somethings and anythings_ you want. Instead, you just.” I just what, Percy? I waste away my life?

As brattish as it is, I'm fuming. I want to throttle him and slam his fucking perfect face into the ground and watch him choke. Wait, no, fuck.

I swallow thickly, and try to steer myself from that train of thought. That mindset was what got me thrown into counseling for the first year of Middleschool. It's what got me given therapy for a month. I breathe evenly.

The air is stagnant and thick with tension, and I watch the apologetic _oh fuck, I'm sorry, I didn't mean it like that_ that flashes across his face after he pieces two and two together. It's comical, in it's own way. I don't laugh. Instead of lashing out at him, like I want to, like I want to pound his fucking teeth out of his mouth, I shrug.

Grimly, I smirk, “Okay,” Percy looks so guilty, I fucking hate it, why am I such a fucking dick? “I can live with you being disappointed.” He shivers at my voice. “Everybody's disappointed in me at one point or another.”

I'm not wrong, am I?

* * *

Snarling at Triton from across the table, I watch him brood like a child. I didn't even get him that bad – just a cut across his cheek, and he acts like it's a fucking flesh wound. Percy squeezes my hand under the table, and I smile at him a little. He grins back down at me.

Hazel keeps Tyson entertained, and I wish I could join in and just ignore the blatant disapproval my father is giving me from beside Poseidon and it just seems that everybody hates me today, as moody and whiny as it sounds.

* * *

I sit on the roof of my dad's car, Triton obediently standing outside it with Poseidon running a hand down his face. “Why...” He groans quietly, hand away from his face to level us both with a tired look, “Why can't you two just be civil? We're in _public!_ At least outside the house, please?”

Triton huffs, folding his arms, “If _he_ ,” He jerks his chin up to me, “Stops being such a fuckup, I'd be able to tolerate him -” I boot his shoulder, making him grunt and stumble from the car. “If _he_ ,” I kick him away some more, “Is less of an asshole, I'd be able to live in peace.” Poseidon moves to stand between us, and I feel sort of guilty, I really do, because this isn't what used to going on between me and Triton. We used to be able to at least nod and then ignore each other, but...i don't know. We just can't be in the same room anymore.

Poseidon asks, “What happened, really?”

Neither of us answer him.

* * *

After the dreadful dinner disaster (I should become a writer with this alliteration, damn,) I hide in my room. The ceiling is dented, stained with smoke, the walls are covered in posters and photos of me and the gang. I want some of Percy up there. I turn to the camera sitting on my nightstand, and idly wonder if I should start carrying it around with me again.

I shake it off, and sit up. My laptop's on the floor, gathering dust. A lot of things in here are gathering dust, now that I think about it. My closet, my set of drawers, my sketchbook. I've just become accustomed to wearing yesterday's clothing every day of the week, I never need anything anymore. I'm never here anymore, to do some drawing, to take some photos. I'm always too busy. Busy being bitter, baleful, bratty.

The Nico Experience.

A churlish chuckle leaves me, and the moment is ruined by the worries that I may actually need to start seeing a professional again, but it's then washed away with the fact of: I _still_ need to see a professional. I just don't.

My day ends with the sky bleeding through my window, and making my room look brazen.

* * *

Wednesday comes like a click of my fingers.

I get up, tug on a pair of jeans and pull my shirt back down so it wasn't riding up my stomach. My boots wait for me on my windowsill, backpack on the floor with spilled contents. I pick it up, wedge on my boots, and knock on Hazel's door, “Wake up, sis; school.” She makes a small groan, but I hear her starting to get up. My travel down the stairs results in me sliding along the handrail and falling off because I started dozing back off the minute I blinked.

Hazel giggles softly at me five minutes later, crouching by my head, “Nicooo,” She strokes my hair as I muffle a response to her, “Nico, c'mon. You gotta make breakfast.” She's right. I do. So I stand on staggering legs and usher her off to the couch with television whilst I procure a bowl of trail mix. Good enough. I'll make a shopping list for my dad at some point.

Speaking of; the man watches me from the table, cowering once again behind his newspaper and coffee. I shuffle into the living room, settling the bowl on the table. Hazel wrinkles her nose a little, but rolls her eyes and digs in. “Don't give me that look, lil' lady,” I tease, tugging a strand of her impossibly curly hair. She giggles, and my day is already going pretty okay.

Scratching my neck, I hum, fumbling around until I give up and sit with Hazel. She's watching _Modern Family_ , or whatever, I think. Whatever. The one with the gays and the weird family tree. ~~Wow, that sounds really insensitive, I'm sorry~~. I squint, “Who's that one again?” I point to the guy who played the beluga whale in Finding Dory. Hazel munches, “Phil. Clair's wife.” I yawn, “Which one's Clair?” She rolls her eyes, “The blonde woman. She's Hayleigh's mom.” I steal a pinch of her trail mix, “Hayleigh's Alex and Luke's sister, right? The unemployed one.” Hazel nods, “A lot like somebody I know, mister,” She pokes me jokingly, giggling. I gasp, then roll my eyes, “I guess I should start a self-employment thing, then.” I think that's what she did. Made like a weird job out of promoting parties? Eh.

Hazel finishes off her meal, and sets her bowl in the sink. I help her pack up, and before I know it, I'm heading to school. Without Percy. I feel empty, but pay no mind. He might be getting a lift from his dad or something.

* * *

I go around the usual way to the back of the school, and there's no sight of Percy. I immediately turn tail and ditch. Nobody was there yet, since I'm usually the first one there, but...Percy's usually there with me; and if he hadn't beet me there, then he's not at school.

So I tug my board from my backpack and drift through the streets aimlessly. The air's warm like always, and the streets are quiet like always, and everything's the _same as before and I hate it_. Without Percy, it's like a relapse. Everything just...dies. Goes back to the way it was, the way it had been when – when _Bianca had called me_ , and it's fucking terrifying.

I shove my hands in my pockets, kicking faster and faster along and gaining speed. I don't want to be here. I want to be gone, to just leave, to never come back. But I'll be leaving everything. Hazel, the gang. Percy. I'd take them with me, Hazel and Percy.

No.

Fuck.

I stop abruptly, and nearly fly from my board. “Shit,” I choke, and pick my board up and hook one of the wheels to my belt loops. Then I take out a cigarette, light it, and take a couple hits. Shit. Shit. Why am I like this? Just. Ugh.

Running a hand through my hair, I start walking again. Taking a hit every three steps, my gait wide and purposeful in that arbitrary way that always annoyed people because they believed that I am pompous – and whilst from one view they're not wrong, they are completely wrong from my view. I'm not pompous. I'm just. Alive. I'm here. You can't ignore me the way you can something small; I am here and I exist. Ignore me, and I'll fucking cut you.

I don't know where I'm going.

* * *

I get a call from Poseidon a little later, asking me that if it wasn't too much, if I could come and comfort Percy because some shit happened this morning.

It gives me somewhere to go.

And so the wind whips through my hair, trying to tear it from my scalp as I race through the streets. I realize on the entire other side of town, and I curse myself internally for letting myself disconnect like that. C'est la vie, I guess.

I trip up on the curb, and hiss as I fall to my knees. Nonetheless, I leave my skateboard on Poseidon's lawn, and hop up to Percy's window. I slip in quietly, after hearing nothing, and leave my bag on the floor. He's asleep. Cheeks damp and shining, lashes clumped together. He'd cried himself to sleep. I feel bad for that, not getting here sooner.

Sighing, I come and sit beside him on the bed, running hands through his hair. There's water on the nightstand, and he doesn't look like he's waking anytime soon, so I grab my sketchbook and a pencil. I take a look at him, how he's already moving towards me and curling his fingers into my shirt and burying his face in my side.

I grin down at him, and start drawing.

* * *

He wakes up a little while later, sidling back up to my side with a croaky voice and a dopey smile. I love it. But he moved, so now I can't complete my drawing, so I scrawl _WIP_ at the corner and drop my sketchbook onto the floor.

We spend what little time I have with him giggling and teasing, until Reyna calls me away and I feel like I want to crack her skull open and dig around until I find what gave her the idea that she could summon me like some fucking lackie.

* * *

I hate Freshmans. I hate them so fucking much – they're all wide eyed and gaping mouths, questions and dumber answers to what they're asked. I prowl around the tennis court, smoking away my cigarettes and trying to look somewhat threatening whenever a kid strays away from the task. Whilst Reyna finally gives the kids a bunch of rackets and balls, I come and stand beside her.

“I fucking hate you,” I tell her. She whacks my arm, “Language, fratello.” I scoff, “ _Lingua_ , sorella.” I examine my nails, huffing. Reyna nudges me a little, smiling, “Thanks, by the way. You're terrifying to these kids, and I'm making more progress than last week.” I shrug, and take a hit. I don't answer until all the smoke has dissipated, “It's whatever, Rey.”

We turn back to the kids. They're fucking retards now; they're not even using the techniques Reyna showed them, and the balls are flying everywhere. I furrow my eyebrows, “Okay, if this is 'good', I don't wanna know what the fuck it was like last week.” She shrugged, hands on her hips, “Nobody listened and three tennis rackets were broken.” I blink, take a hit, and clear by throat.

“Hey, listen up!” Everybody stops and looks to us. I start strolling around ,to the first kid closest. I take her racket and pick up the ball, “Reyna showed you all these cool tricks, right? Use 'em!” I backhand the ball half way across the court to a kid who wasn't listening. The ball hits his head with a heavy _thock_ and he groans, falling to the floor. I hand the girl her racket back.

I shrug a little, gesturing to the fallen dude, “Or you can be a little shit and suffer the consequences.” Reyna chuckles from where she stands by the bucket of tennis balls. I smirk at her, and continue to pace around. I throw back balls that go astray, and eventually I make it to my victim.

His nose is bleeding. Oh well. I nudge him with my foot, “Sorry, kid. C'mon,” I'm feeling compassionate. He's got a head full of carrot-straw hair and enough freckles on his face to make him look tan. He gets up, cradling his nose, “I think you broke my nose, jerk.” I shrug, “Well, whatever. I'll fix it, but let's get you cleaned up.” I wave to Reyna, and grab the kid's collar, leading him to the bathrooms. It's his fault; he wasn't paying attention.

“Hit any harder, an' I think you'd've killed me.” I roll my eyes, taking a hit from my cigarette, “Chill, drama queen. You'd've lived.” Our feet echo on the floor, and I shove him roughly into the bathroom, “Wash up, let me see the 'damage'.” I crook my fingers around the word, and carrot-top sneers at me. Then chokes on blood. I smirk at him in the mirror, leaning against the cubicles.

“You're a jerk, di Angelo. No wonder nobody likes you.” I chuckle deeply, and stroll forward. Whilst he washes his face – meaning he can't see me – I lean in low to him. He pulls his hands back, and nearly shrieks. I smirk sardonically at him, and put my cigarette out in between his spread fingers on the counter top. I watch him freeze, and tear up, as if I'd actually put my cigarette out on his skin. Fucking pansy. “Ever heard of sticks and stones?” He nods, “Well, it's pretty right that I can break your bones with them, you lil' shit.”

His nose is definitely broken. My bad. I pinch the bridge of his nose, and he winces, gasping. I line my finger up along the other side and _push_. Carrot-top cries out, and I hear a _click_ as his nose is reposition. “There. Fixed.” I pat his head, making him nod a few times. “Now c'mon, so I have proof I didn't murder you.”

He trails behind me, back through the walls to the tennis court. He hesitates before I open the doors, “Uh – y-you're not gonna... _actually_ beat me, are you?” I turn to him, give him a long, long look, and smile heartlessly. “Depends. We gonna get along, or do you want a serious enemy?” Carrot-top swallows, holding out his fist, “I'm Harris O'Malley.” ~~Smart boy~~.

My smirk softens, and I bump his fist, “Nico.” He smiles at me, shakily still, and touches his nose gently, “Thanks. I didn't...mean to be a brat, I just.” I pat his head softer this time, and open the door, “I get it, kid; we've all got our days.” I know I have mine.

He returns to his racket and partner, and I return to my place beside Reyna. She watches Harris perform an arked serve, and she raises an eyebrow at me, “You break the kid's nose or something?” I nod, “Fixed it, though. Got a new friend, too.” She rolls her eyes, knocking our shoulders together, “You're like a kid collected insects, Nico.” And she's right, I am, though for the reasons why, she'll never know.

“Don't I know it, Rey.”

* * *

I buy Percy a couple CD's with the guys.

They all tease me, tell me it's so old now.

 _Nobody uses CD's anymore, Nico_.

I tell them to go fuck themselves; I refuse to feel embarrassed about my gift for him.

* * *

“Do I get any fucking say in whether I leave or not?” I ask, resigned, tired, defeated.

Before me stand my father and my uncle. Hades and Erebus, ironic in name and almost identical in looks. Erebus is a little taller than my dad, but not by much. His trench-coat is folded over his arm, hat in his hand. He's got smoldering eyes that are ringed gold, and a nose as straight a roman's, like my dad's. High cheekbones, thin lips, angular jaws and black hair brushed in an attempt to neaten it despite the unruly curls in it. Now guess who I'm talking about.

They both shake their heads, and Hades huffs, “Nico, Erebus needs some help moving his items back into the house, and some help around the office – many reports and papers that need to be filed; it'll only be for the weekend.” I huff, rolling my eyes, “Great. So you're crashing 'til Friday?” I direct the question at Erebus. He nods, “Sí, Niccolo. Va bene per te?” (Yes Niccolo. Is that okay with you?” I shake my head, sighing heavily, “No, not really, but what-the-fuck-ever, right? Neither of you fucks are gonna listen to me anyways, assholes!” The rest of my sentence is shouted from the bottom of the stairs, as I had been walking away from the pair of them throughout the conversation.

Erebus sighs quietly, I hear, before he turns to Hades, “Ho detto qualcosa di sbagliato?” (Did I say something wrong?) No, he didn't, he really didn't. I'm just a brat, that's all. I hear Hades say so. I slam the door shut behind me, foaming at the mouth.

I snatch up the CD's for Percy, and regret not buying wrapping paper for them. I find a plastic bag and wrap them up in it, tearing sellotape from my dispenser to keep it closed. It's shitty, but it'd do. I shove the CD's into my jacket's pocket.

Taking deep breaths, I grab my fresh cigarette pack and stuff that in my inside pocket, along with my lighter. I don't think there's anything else I need. I'll pack on Friday or some shit; i'm not rushing for nothing.

There's a knock on my door, just as I'm ready to leap out my window. I freeze, “Who's there?” Erebus clears his throat a little, “Sono io,” (It's me,) I retract my foot from the sill, striding across the short distance to open it, “Ciao.” I greet. I move to let him in. Behind him, there is nobody, and I couldn't be any fucking happier.

Erebus looks around my room, and smiles a little, “Niente è cambiato.” (Nothing's changed.) I shrug, shaking my head, “I never change. I like my room how it is.” He strolls around, and picks up my denim jacket and hangs it on my overly tall bedpost. He strokes the rough, splintered wood at the top sadly, but says nothing. He knows Bianca used to sleep up there.

“Scusi,” He says, coming to sit on my bed. I shrug, and tug a suitcase out from underneath my bed, along with my boombox. I press the old, faded buttons, and listen to the cassette whir for a moment. Erebus chuckles from above me, “Niccolo,” Niccolo, Niccolo, Niccolo – that's me. “Nico,” I tell him, “It's Nico now.” His dark eyes blink for a moment, before he nods and clears his throat again, “Nico...I know you...didn't expect this on – on short notice.” I shrug, turning to volume down on my boombox, and open my suitcase.

I appreciate his effort – I know he's uncomfortable speaking to me in English a lot. He's fluent, don't get me wrong, but I get it; speaking home-tongue whilst _at home_ is better than speaking something else.

I my suitcase is the leftovers from last time I left home, to go visit Auntie Hestia. She needed some help rebuilding the hearth in the center of town where she lives, because the government wont help her. I think we did a pretty good job. Erebus comes to sit across from me, picking up a few of the photos I took whilst I was there. As he looks through them, smiling, he says, “But I really appreciate you coming out to help me out.” I nod, shrugging, and tug out all the crap I'd brought back.

Some old flannel shirts, some more photos I'll pin up later. “Yeah? Well, anything for family, I guess.” I mutter bitterly. He pats my shoulder with a calloused hand as long-fingered as my father's, and chuckles, “Yes, exactly. Like you did with Hesita,” He holds up the photos. I nod. Erebus hands them over to me, and I settle them on my nightstand. I then stand myself, and open my closet, “What's the weather over in Nevada right now?”

He shrugs, “The same as here.” I nod, and just grab a two pairs of jeans, and a spare shirt that had _A Day To Remember_ on it. Erebus stands up, ruffling my hair, “I'll come get you later, va bene?” I nod, and offer a smile for him. He leave my room.

The minute the sound of Erebus heading down stairs reaches my ears, Hazel whizzes into my room and tries to hide in my closet. She doesn't like dad's relatives coming over. They scare her a lot. “Nicooo,” She whines loudly from beneath a hoodie. I lift it, watching her pout, “Sí, sorellina?” She huffs at me, “No! Don't speak Italian, please? Not until Erebus leaves.” I snort, rolling my eyes, “Sure thing, sweetie.” She smiles, and lunges out to hug me, “Love you.” I nod, “Love you too.”

I pull back, stroking her cheek, “Look, I gotta bounce,” Her face falls. I wink, “But,” I drawl it, giving her the idea that there's something in it for her. Which there is. I'd never lead her on like that.

“Here's my bedroom key,” I slip it into the pocket of her shorts, “And my candy stash is here.” She looks around, confused, as I turn her to look into the closet. I dig around in one of my older jackets – the ones that are a little too small now, and the ones she'll probably steal once she realizes I don't wear them. I pull out a couple packs of gummy bears, “That pocket, okay? And the inside pockets. That jacket, basically.” She nods, and kisses my cheek, “Love you, bro.” I wink, “My laptop is free for you to use, you can sleep in my bed if it makes you feel better, anything that is mine is yours to wear.”

Hazel stands up, and opens a packet of candy, “Thanks.” I nod, and brush off my knees, “Try not to break anything while I'm gone,” She understands that what I'm telling her is for this weekend. And I wink, “Anything you find that's a little grown up, I recommend not touching.” She wrinkles her nose, “Gross.” I ruffle her hair, and prop myself up onto my windowsill, “Camera is free for you to use, 'til Friday. Then, I'm taking it with me.” She giggles, and runs up to me, hugging my arm before jumping up onto my bed and grabbing my laptop. She types in my password ( _gayestmotherfucker_ ) and is occupied. I wink to her one more time, and wave, before falling from my window.

* * *

He loves the CDs I give him, and gets a little angry over the fact that I'm leaving, but other than that, things are pretty good. He takes a couple photos on his new camera, and I admittedly blushed in both of them. Then we try to go out on a date, and that didn't really work, because I realized that Erebus wanted to come find me for some shit so we ran, and I feel sort bad because he means well, but I'm a brat, and I don't want to go yet.

Just a little longer, please.

And then we ended up in Rachel and Octavian's place, and I'm trying not to punch the crap outta him. I sit on the edge of the couch, Percy safely between me and Rachel. I rest my elbows on my knees, hunched forward, “Take a Valium, you fucking stiff -” I huff, “I got 'til Friday to give you fireworks. You never specified a time.”

The blond creep tuts, rolling his eyes. Rachel makes a sound, but my eyes are on my...colleague. Fucking hairless cat with the shakes is what he is, “Smart ass, fucking adrenaline junkie.” And as I begin to retort, Percy opens his mouth.

And I love him, I really do, and I get he's trying to help dilute the issue but saying, “He's been okay this week,” Is not going to solve the issue, goddammit. I glance at him from my corner view, and hope he gets _why the fuck did you start talking you asshat, I love you, but why?_ He looks like a kicked puppy once he realizes he fucked up.

Octavian, strange, psycho person he is, leans towards me, eyes wide, “Gone soft, have we,” He pauses a little, taking in the detail of my unaffected demeanor, “di Angelo?” I shrug, “In your dreams, Bird Bones,” And then before I can tell him to shut up, Percy tries to redeem himself, “He, uh, well, school's been ditched a lot.” I watch him wince. I blink at him, shaking my head a little. Some other spiel happens, and I like to believe I'm playing it off well, until he sneers,

“It's your sister, isn't it? She's contacted you?”

And what happens next is a bit of a blur. I stand, I arch over him and leer something. I tell him she's dead, she's in the ground, ghosts can't spook me, Octavian, not if they're dead. Ghosts aren't real, shut up you little fucking mole rat, I'mma beat your ass if you don't wipe that fucking smile from your face, you bastard.

“You think a ghost is all she is, di Angelo? It's quite fucking clear that Bianca -”

Next thing I know is I've got him pinned to the back of the armchair, cutting off his airway as he scrabbles at my wrist. I hate it I hate it I hate it I hate it. I say something defensive, and that's it, he's calling me shit and I want to snap his neck. Somewhere, after a minute, Percy pulls me back, and purses his lips, “I think that's enough for today.”

I ignore whatever he says next, just watching his frail hands rub his neck. My hand prints will bruise for a couple days, I think, and I'm empty as Percy leads me to the door.

I come back in time just to catch Rachel on the way out, how she's wringing out her hands. Grabbing her wrist, I furrow my eyebrows, “Come with us?” She shakes her head, curling her red hair around a finger, and she says something about keeping _him_ okay. I sigh, and prompt her to call me.

Rachel smirks at me, her green eyes dazzling, “I'm tougher than your lil' Lou, Nico,” Aye, she is, she really is. I hum, smiling, “Right.” She closes the door, waving to us.

I fume a little, letting Percy grab my hand and lead us out of the building. We're silent, his thumb brushes over my hand sometimes, but other than that, we just walk. Percy sighs heavily, and squeezes my hand, “You okay?” I nod, “Yeah. You?” He nods.

And that's it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey y'all, so sorry this was a little choppy, but I wanted to convey that though the week as all over the place for Percy, for Nico, it was just a blur with only a few things that really stood out enough for him to actually focus on. Because, whilst Percy focuses on the small picture - then and there, _right now_ \- Nico is more focused on the bigger picture, like a spectator watching it all unravel - before, after, never directly on the present, but more so in a period _just_ a fraction before or after.


	16. Love Me Like The Rain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> *original quote: A mess of beautiful contradictions that make her whole, she wears fire for skin, but a storm lives in her soul.
> 
> I changed it to fit better, sorry if that annoyed anybody, I know some people don't like mutations of an original quotation.

_A mess of beautiful contradictions make him whole,  
_ _he wears fire for skin,_ _but a storm lives in his soul_

\- Nikita Gill

*

**CHAPTER SIXTEEN**

I wonder if my lense on life is altered from what it used to be. He tugs me along, and I walk, dazed, and see things in the way one would if they were him, now.

My mother's lense would've been in black and white, I believe, and my father's is jovial color. And my companion, well, I can only imagine, I suppose.

Maybe it's dulled into a slate gray, void or right or wrong. Perhaps it's filtered by black dots, or floaters swimming in his vision, pulsing flashes that spark images of past memories that haunt him.

Or, my favorite romanticazation of his viewpoint, is that he sees everything like it's his last day on earth. Blind and stumbling in hopes that he'll live to see another day.

“Something, anything,” Is what he says when I ask, “That's all I hope to see, Percy.”

* * *

We trickle into class, the four of us, and Lou huffs moodily, “So fucking unfair, dude! They can't just decide that shit for you, can they?” Nico shrugs, picking at dried paint on his shoulder – probably from Rachel's - “I mean. Yeah, yeah, they can.”

He sounds defeated, and it's an uncharacteristic thing. Cecil's frowning, looking a little shaken from all the yelling from Lou, and the idea of the glue being gone for a couple days. Will isn't here yet – still in the music studio with Kayla. Turns out, she's actually one of the assistants for the studio of the school, too, which is pretty cool.

Nobody's in the classroom yet, so Nico hops up onto the sill like normal, taking a drag from his cigarette. Lou sits on his desk, crossing her arms, “Which uncle's taking you, anyways?” Cecil sits on my desk, still looking upset, and oddly quiet. I let him sit there, and smile at him reassuringly. The curly haired boy just purses his lips. “Erebus,” Nico answers, and Lou groans, “Oh shit, he's your dad's twin or something, right? Your family tree's confusing as shit.” Nico nods, and kicks her lightly, “It's only two days, guys. A few days without me wont hurt. You've survived without me before.”

Everybody hears Cecil mutter, “That's different.”

Nico softens a little as he takes another hit, dark eyes searing into him, “How so, Curly?” He shrugs, looking so sad and just... _alone_ , it's scary. I pat his knee a little. He smiles at me briefly, playing with the lid of his lgihter, “You just – you were _here_ , y'know? Fuck, like, if somethin' was fucked, we could...get you. You were here, and you were only a yell away or some shit.”

My boyfriend chuckles softly, hopping down from the windowsill. He breezes past me, but brushes our hands, before he perches beside Cecil. I'm amazed to watch Nico sling an arm around his shoulders, pull him close and ruffle his hair. Like siblings, almost. I smile softly at Lou, and she's mellow. “Well, nothin's changed, 'Cil. I'm only a fucking call away, y'know, and if it's serious shit?”

He manages to catch Cecil's hazel eyes, and he shrugs, “I'm all for hopping on the next train back down here.” Nico ruffles his hair, “You'll be fine, okay? You don't need me to baby you.” then Nico returns to his normal state, knocking Cecil's head with his fist a little, “So chill, pothead, it's not the end of the world. You too, Lou. You'll both be fine. I'm just worried about Will dealing with the pair of you this weekend.”

We all laugh a little at that. And though I'm across from Nico, and he isn't beside me, everything's okay. He catches my gaze, and smirks. “And Shark Bait over here needs some acquaintin' with the rest of the town, right? Go ham, guys. “ I feel the color drain from my face, “How could you.” He's betrayed me. I'm fucked. I can't go around meeting people without him, there's just so many things I could fuck up, like I did with Octavian – shit.

He sees my panic, and just chuckles. The bastard.

I glare at him, “Fucking traitor. Get ready for your reputation to go downhill, fucker.” He shrugs, and gets up, and walks until he's between my legs. Cecil and Lou are now talking to each other, so they don't notice the proximity between us, but I'm still weary. He whispers in my ear, sill mirthful, “You big baby. I'll give you a tip, okay?” I nod, my hands coming to tangle in his jacket. “Think about what your mom would tell you to do, and do the opposite. It worked for me.”

And though he's smiling when he pulls back, he's got saddened eyes. I smile, and bump out noses together, before the Trouble Twins turn back to us. “When's Sunshine coming. Anyways? Class is starting soon,” Lou muses. Cecil shrugs, and sighs, “Prob'ly excited about his dad again,” Nico sighs heavily, and I raise an eyebrow at him. He mutters to me, “Will's dad is never home or around. He says he'll be coming home, like, all the fucking time, but never does.” My eyes widen, and I furrow my eyebrows, “Poor guy.” He nods.

But, by the way he glances at Lou and Cecil each, something tells me he knows far more than I do about their home lives. Which is understandable, considering I've only been here two weeks. I sigh, and let Nico lean back against me as he plays about on his phone. He's texting somebody – I totally don't watch.

**Erebus sent:**

_**Stai bene?** _

**At 07:19 AM**

You Sent:

Yes.

At 07:19 AM

**Erebus sent:**

_**Mi dispiace che le cose  
scorsa di mano, Niccolo.** _

**At 07:20 AM**

“What's he saying?” I ask. Nico shrugs, and is quiet for a moment. “He's asking if I'm okay; Hazel's pony hit my face really hard yesterday, and he wanted to make sure there was nothing too serious.” I furrow my eyebrows at him; that doesn't sound right, the way it came from his mouth. He wont meet my eyes.

I sigh, and rest my chin on his shoulder, “Don't lie to me, Nico.” He stiffens a little, and lowers his head in guilt. I smile, and huff against his neck, “If something happens at home, just say so, babe,” I whisper – Nico probably doesn't want Cecil or Lou knowing any of this. “I've seen what happens between you and your dad; you think something like this is gonna scare me?”

You sent:

_It wasn't your fault, stop_

_feeling sorry about it._

At 07:21 AM

He smiles at me a little, and briefly touches the bruise on his face. Wincing, he pulls his hand away, and sighs a little, “I don't know what I'm thinking, Percy.” I hum, and shove my hands into his pockets, “Well, you don't need to, really.” He chuckles, and moves away to stand before me, facing me. “Why do you always manage to make me feel better?” He whispers. I shrug, and just smile, puffing my chest out, “I'm just perfect.” And wink. Nico rolls his eyes, “I fucking hate you.” I shake my head, patting his head patronizingly, “No, no, Nico. We don't treat others like that, now do we?” He glowers at me, but he smirks after wards, batting his eyelashes, “Oh, no, of _course not_ , sir.” I try not to shiver.

Lou snickers at something Cecil said, before she waves at Will in the doorway, “Sunshine! Get your Texan Butt over here!” There's a sigh, and Will walks past me to sit at his desk, “Mornin' y'all.” I smile at him, waving, “Hey Will.” He grins at me, brushing hair from his face, “What's got y'all quiet, anyways? I come in an' it's like a darn morgue!” Nico grumbles a little, “Morgue's are more fucking cheery than this shit tip.” Lou snorts.

Then Cecil stumbles over to will, like a puppy with his tail between his legs and wails, “Nico's abandoning us!” Nico chuckles a little, and throws a wrapper from his pocket at the curly haired boy, “Only for the weekend, you dumb fuck.” Will glances to Lou, who playfully pouts, “Not fair! He's goin' away to fucking Nevada for two days!”

Will's eyes widen, and he blinks at Nico, “What's goin' on?” Nico shrugs, and leans back against me. I should probably explain that I'm sitting back on my desk now, and he's using my legs as armrests, so. That's extremely comfortable, seriously, he's oddly cool and it's hot today, so, yes, comfortable. But...it's very close for 'friends'. Not that I mind.

“My uncle needs some help back at home, and getting some shit back in at work or whatever.” He nods, and huffs a little, pulling a water bottle from his bag, “Sounds like hell.” Nico shrugs again, scratching his nose, “I guess.”

I rummage around in his pockets a little more and pull out his cigarettes and steal his lighter. My boyfriend huffs at me, but lets me get away with it. I light the cigarette, and take a drag, and smile down at Nico, “Thanks.” He rolls his eyes, swiping his lighter and pack back, “Fuck off, you mooch.”

And everything's okay.

* * *

Reyna's dragged Jason along to the tennis courts to supervise a Freshman activity, and Will went after them with Cecil, due to being in a deep conversation with the other blond, causing Lou to trail Cecil and me to go after Nico with the rest of them, because Nico has a new friend there he wants to check on or something.

Follow the leader, right?

I sigh quietly, and perch on the small set of bleachers by the court, a little ways from the nets. Reyna's strolling around, helping to perfect kids' statures and whatever, Jason and Will are in the shade over by the doors to the spare building – locker rooms and bathrooms, I guess. Lou and Cecil linger around them, the girl listening to music on her phone, whilst Cecil just smokes his joint. My boyfriend's over near this redheaded kid, kicking around a spare tennis ball and sometimes throwing it at the Freshman teasingly. His nose looks busted, but I'm not judging.

Eventually, after a couple kicks, Nico looks over to me and waves. I wave back, but he rolls his eyes and waves exaggeratedly for me to come over. I chuckle, and stroll over to him, “What do you want, babe?” I tut, ruffling his hair. The kid blinks at me oddly, and it's subdued, the moment I realize I called him _babe_. Oops.

Nico tugs at my shirt, “This is Harris. I broke his nose yesterday.” I blink, furrowing my eyebrows, “Is this how you introduce everybody?” Nico shrugs, and turns to Harris, “This is Percy. I've ruined him as a person.” The kid rolls his eyes, smiling, “Sounds 'bout right.” My boyfriend huffs, “Well, that's fuckin' cheeky.” I whack him, “Nobody says 'cheeky', you fuckin' dome crome.” Nico looks like a pissed off cat, glowering at me.

“Respect your fuckin' elders, asshat.” Harris chuckles, and shakes his head, “Are you two going out or something?” Nico opens his mouth, smiling, before he pauses and glances at me. I shake my head, forcing a chuckle, “Nah, just friends.” Nico ducks his head, and shove his hands in his pockets, “Uh – yeah, just bros, whatever.”

I hold back a crooning sound, and sling an arm around Nico's shoulders, “I wanna get somethin' from the cafeteria; you comin'?” Nico nods, and bumps fists with the kid before waving.

Lou yells over, “Where're you going, assholes!?” Nico snorts, and shouts back, “None-ya!” She furrows her eyebrows, cocking her head, “None-ya what?” I smirk, flipping her off, “None ya business!” She works her mouth for a minute, before rolling her eyes and returning my gesture, “Fuck you.” Nico sways his hips a little, licking his lips, “I'd rather your brother do the honors!” He face blooms red, but she's still grinning when she turns away. We turn the corner, to the main building, and Nico's demeanor just _crumbles_.

We stop near the entrance to the parking lot, away from the gang's current location. He sighs, and leans back against the wall, where he normally does. I frown, standing beside him. We're silent, until Nico inquires, “Why do you care so much about them knowing?”

Wincing, I shrug, “I -” He doesn't let me continue, and he looks like he might start a blown-out argument about this. “Nobody cares whether you're gay or not, dude! It's twenty-seventeen – people have fucking matured now, it only a little, but still! And – and – it really...” His hands drop, and he crosses his arms, “It makes me feel like shit.” Before I can respond, again, he turns away from me, sounding miserable, “Am I not good enough or some shit?”

I feel like an asshole. I didn't know this would affect him so much.

Shaking my head, I reach for his shoulder: he doesn't push me away. I turn him to me, and find his eyes, “God no, Nico – I just.” Shrug, that's what I do, because god knows what I want. His crow eyes are swimming in doubt, and I hate it, so I pull him in and kiss him roughly, like he adores, and feel him reciprocate. If only a little.

“I don't know why I care so much Nico, I think I just enjoy having you to me with nobody asking questions.” The dark haired teen before me sniffles a little – he _sniffles_ , and I feel so fucking shitty for making him feel this way, jesus fucking christ. I move my hands to cradle his face, brushing those sharp cheekbones under my thumbs, and I just -

He gives me this small smile, but he's guarded, and he sighs through his nose, “Understandable.” Chuckling, I knock our foreheads together, “Stealing my lines, are you?” He nods, and brings his hands up to rest over mine; cadaverous fingers curling around mine, and they're so cool against mine, and I can feel the raised skin of scabs against mine, and -

“I might be. I'll stop if you make a deal with me,” I'm all ears. I nod eagerly, nuzzling our noses, “Yeah? I'm wide open, baby.” I don't think I've called him that before. Just 'babe', or Ghost King. His dark eyes widen, thick lashes brushing his cheeks every time he blinks. Then his chapped lips curl a little, and he snorts a little. Then he falls serious, looking at me through those luscious lashes, “If...if there's something you don't like going on between us, _tell me_.” I nod, baffled for a moment, because honestly, I thought he was going to end it -

“Y-Yeah, of course, Nico, I -” He pecks me lightly, “And...as long as you're happy, I don't mind not telling anybody.” He doesn't look at me as he says it, and it's not fair, it really, just the way he's so disheartened by the idea, and he's just giving up everything for me, and it's not fair, I don't deserve him, not really, but he's here and he loves me and I don't know I just -

“I love you,” I blurt out, garbled and an octave higher than usual, “I really fucking love you.”

He goes still, eyes glued to his shoes. And I don't know why he's stock still right now, I don't know if I said the wrong thing or if he's realized I'm just trash yet. Then he shakes his head, moving my hands from his face so he can swing them between us. He shakes his head again, that bitter smirk I saw days ago – the jealous one, the one that's accepting, despite wanting what I have.

“No you don't, Percy.” My heart stops. “You're seventeen, living in a forever-sunset town.”

* * *

I rock back in my chair, sighing heavily. It seems the only class I have now days is with Mr Brunner, in the back of the classroom with Nico behind me and Will to my left. Lou behind him, Cecil to her left, trading a couple packs of gum for two dollars.

Sighing, I rock some more on my chair, until I'm viewing Nico upside down. He doesn't notice me, sharing a stare with Tanaka all the way across the room. He looks tired, a little compassionate, but there's no malice, as I'd've expected. The girl's makeup is smudged a little, her hair's unbrushed, and her outfit isn't exactly coordinated. A pair of denim shorts with an oversized sweater on. Not something she'd wear, from the times I've paid attention to Tanaka.

Nico drops her gaze, and raises his hand. Brunner sighs heavily, and asks, “What is it, Mr di Angelo?” He shrugs, scratching his nose, “Can I go to the bathroom.” The handicapped man squints at him suspiciously, but otherwise sighs in defeat and chucks a pass at him. I sit up, dizzy from the rush, just in time to watch Nico swipe up a note _he wrote_ and circuit in a very specific way across the classroom. He drops the note on Tanaka's desk before exiting the room.

I throw a confused look to Will, who just shrugs. I watch the dark haired girl squint at the lettering – it must be fucking horrendous – before she raises her hand and asks the same question Nico had. Brunner's just given up at this point, holding out a pass for her to get before she leaves the classroom.

I'm left very confused and wondering if Nico's looking for a fight.

* * *

The bell's close to ringing, and neither of them have returned. I ask for the bathroom, and the teacher tells me to hurry, because he only has two hall passes. I sigh, bag on my shoulder as I stride through the hall.

I hear voices, and carefully creep and lean against the corner to the bathrooms. I see Nico and Tanaka, sat and leaned up against the wall. She looks close to crying, knees to her chest as she waves her hands around a little, “She's just – You're right, you asshole,” She whacks Nico a little, but just slumps, wafting the tears from her eyes, “She doesn't love me, does she?” Everybody has fucking parental issues here, huh?

Nico shakes his head, tugging at her loose strands and tucking them behind her ear, “No, she doesn't. But y'know who does, Drew?” _Drew Tanaka_. I add that tidbit of info on my memory board. Her kaleidoscopic eyes shift to him, glistening, “Who?”

My boyfriend shrugs, “Your dad; he loves you a lot. Hell, he's bought you half of fucking Avon to keep you happy, right? And, uh, yeah, okay; your step-mom's sorta iffy, but -”

Drew wipes her eyes, shaking her head with a watery smile, “You _of all people_ , di Angelo, I swear to god.” He raises an eyebrow, smirking, “I _of all people_ , what?” The girl fiddles with her sweater, laughing a little, “You're giving me parental peptalk, but have you _seen_ your face today?”

His hand comes to brush the bruise on his cheek from his dad, the black eye and busted lip from Triton, the scab on his jaw, “It's not that bad, is it?” Drew nods, and rummages in her handbag, “It's so fucking bad, Nico, jesus. I should lend you concealer.” Nico wrinkles his nose at the idea, but squints into the tiny, circular mirror she holds out for him.

“Shit,” He mutters, eyes widening a little, “Holy shit, no wonder the counselor’s tryna drag me into her fuckin' death trap lately.” Drew chuckles, and produces a large brush and a palette of powder, “Give me your hand.” He holds it out, and she brushes some of the palette onto the back of it.

Her eyes widen, “Why are you so _pale?_ Like paper, or something, dear god.” Nico flexes his finger, sneezing as the powder wafts into the air, “Fuckin' -” He sneezes again. I hold back a snicker.

“If we were friends, I'd be advising you that Avon's Ivory Foundation would be the best choice for you, I think.” Nico smirks, rolling his eyes, “If we were friends, I'd be telling you that your mascara's smudged and your face is blotchy.” She winks at him, standing, and heading into the girl's bathroom to fix up.

Nico remains on the floor for a moment, and hums to himself. He flexes his hand again and rolls his eyes, standing and making his way towards me. I turn tail and jog to make it look like I'm further up the hall.

“Sugar?” Nico asks. I turn, and wave a little, “Hey babe.” He raises an eyebrow, “We're you going?” I shrug, and catch his hand, “Heard you talking, so I turned 'round.” Nico nods, and kisses my cheek, “Okay. If that's all you were doing,” There's a teasing edge to his tone, this knowing look in his eye. But he says nothing, and I don't have it in myself to feel guilty about the matter. Something tells me he was expecting _somebody_ to go looking for him.

“You going back to class?” I inquire. Nico hesitates for a moment, before shrugging, “Up to you.” I smile at him, and walk past the classroom door, “Nah.” He smirks at me, “I think I've finally made a monster of you, sugar.” I blink, and god, that feels like years on my shoulders – that conversation so many days back feeling like centuries. I laugh, and it echoes through the halls, “Maybe, who knows.”

The look he gives me is painstakingly raw; loving.

* * *

They haven't come to follow us yet. It's weird, and odd. Nico doesn't seem to mind, happy to roam with me aimlessly. The sky is as red as the day I got here, all those days ago, and together we're like the moon and the ocean. And for a while, everything's okay.

“Do you think they'll be coming after us soon?” I ask. Nico shakes his head, smiling softly, “They're already distancing themselves.” I find that to be a strange thing, but I don't question it. Instead, I prod him a little, “Wh -” I clear my throat, “What were you and Tanaka doing, anyways?” I don't meet his gaze when he shoots me a questioning look.

He shrugs, “Not much.” Then, “Why?” I shrug, too, and squeeze his hand, “No reason, babe. Just curious.” Nico hums, “Well, I just...talked to her a little, I guess. Not much.” I didn't think he'd admit it that easily. Wow. Humming, I squeeze his shoulder, “I'm glad you two are...on common ground,” I say. Nico shakes his head, barking out this churlish laughter, like he always does when I mistakenly say something.

“No common ground, Percy,” He says, and leans against me a little, “Just pity.” My stomach stirs a little at how his voice dropped to this sanguinary melody.

He leads me aimlessly through the streets, shivers whenever these random bursts of wind occur. I watch the sky; it's lavender, as if sunset, the clouds clustering in pale pink. Morning skies. Our feet echo on the cracked sidewalk, the tempo of our steps in sync, and maybe our heartbeats, too, if I'm hopeful enough to believe. “Pity?” I inquire.

Nico shrugs, runs a hand through his hair. His dark eyes slide to me, his mouth a thin line with a split down the center, “Pity.” I don't understand. It appears evidently on my face, as he squeezes my hand and shrugs, “Not much more on the matter, sugar. We pity each other and that's all there is to it.” I sigh heavily, “But why do you pity Tanaka?”

My boyfriend just shakes his head, leaning against me as we walk, “She's got shit to deal with; ruins a person from the inside out if you don't fix it right,” He starts, “I feel for her, on a level.” He shrugs, gesturing with his hand a little. It's cute, how he does that, unthinkingly. I adore how his crow eyes grow lively in this maddened way that nobody will every understand. He's beautiful. I blink, his words catching up with me, “What level?”

Nico shrugs, and tugs at the hem of his shirt. A pale gray one today; it's got a few black and white images on it, with a fine font of _California_ at the bottom. So I'm not the only one for state calligraphy. I smile at it a little, before my eyes inevitably wander back up to his face.

“An apathetic level,” He chuckles bitterly, before sobering at my genuinely curious look. “Her mom hates her; doesn't care for nothing but her shiny fuckin' diamonds up in Paris, two-timing with some hunks. Tanaka...she has sisters. A lot of them. A shit ton, y'know?” I nod, because I've read the odd magazine, I've heard the odd snippet from the television. Nico shrugs, running a hand through his hair, “I get that.” It's silent for a moment.

The birds stop singing, the gentle hum of electricity in the power-lines falls flat: it's like a heart monitor flat-lining. Everything died.

“And, well, Tanaka's gotta couple issues under all that makeup, and I get that, too, I guess.” I furrow my eyebrows, “How does that make you pity her, Nico? It sounds like you can relate to her.” He chuckles, and rolls his shoulders, “She's shit at hiding it.” It's cruel in the way he just brushes it off, “And it's pitiable. I, however,” He shrugs, falling silent, conflicted.

“I don't know. But I'm less than her.”

I don't both asking what he means, because I know that somewhere, he doesn't know. So I resort to nodding, swinging out hands between us, “Okay, babe.” He nods with me, looking grim. “Okay.” He echoes. All sound returns in a cacophony that maybe only I can hear, since nobody else seems to have noticed the difference. Everybody's in their own worlds here.

“You're everything to me, though,” I whisper, leaning in and pressing our foreheads together. He chuckles, scrunching his nose a little when I thumb his bruised cheek. A coral pigment tints the apple of his cheeks, and I chuckle softly with him. I do everything with him, now days. “E sei ancora di più, amore.”

My heart skips a beat.

* * *

It started to rain five minutes ago.

It's like stars falling from violet heavens. I – I can't really get over it, not really. New York's never made rainfall look so pretty, or even desirable, but here I am, unblinking as the rain falls into my eyes and mouth. I love it.

Nico chuckles every time I whisper, “ _Wow_.” His jacket's tied through his belt-loops, his shirt becoming damp as more rain comes down. The water's clumping up his eyelashes and shining in his hair – like morning dew, maybe, and I suppose I'm not entirely wrong. His skin gleams, and the scrape on his jaw and lip are dripping a diluted red moisture from the rain washing away crusted blood. Against this new colored sky, he looks right.

Purple, blue, red. His right eye holds the colors of a deep-set bruise, the blotch forming from below his eyebrow to just about where his eyesocket would round off, the same for his slightly swollen cheek. Navies and lilacs. And his eyes are red-rimmed and laced with exhaustion; crimson. It looks like a puzzle piece slotted to place, and yet, so horrifically heinous.

“I thought New York was notorious for having rain, sugar?” Nico asks me, and I shrug. Bringing a hand up, I card my fingers through his hair and watch more rain gather and glimmer like stars in this course volume of blackness. I nod, and release a grin, “It is, baby, it is. I just.” Shaking my head, I near-desperately surge forward and kiss him. He's too perfect; divine, deiform. I love him.

“It's so much more than just the rain,” I whisper.

Nico snorts, rolling his eyes, “Sure. Like what?” I shrug, and we walk, like we've been walking for the past few hours, steadily and unhurriedly. Though I suppose that's one in the other, huh? “You,” I tell him, and he raises a skeptical eyebrow, “How original.”

I shake my head, and grin at him through the fine rainfall, now like sleet, “I don't give a fuck if that's not original, Nico, I'm spitting the goddamn truth here.” His dark eyes bore into me, unbelieving, yet simultaneously, they're allured. “You make everything better.” I tell him.

Shaking his head, my boyfriend brushes me off quietly. I nod, and pull him to sit on a bench; we've walked all the way to the beginnings of the beach. He huffs quietly, turning to the trees that seemed acres away. The rain continues to fall, and whilst I love the sensation of it running down my back, dampening my hair, feeling it run along my skin, I turn back to Nico. “You do, seriously. Have you seen the affect you have on this place, or have you been blind since Bianca ran away?”

Nico shakes his head, standing, and grabbing my hands. Dammit, this isn't what I was after. He starts pulling me, and I don't know where he's taking me, but the sand shimmers under my shoes like the entire beach was made of glitter. “Shut up, Percy,” He tells me softly, and pulls me to the charred, black remains of the bonfire from last week. I kick some of the smolders, and smile as the ash dissipates. I hum, “What if I don't want to?” I ask him.

Nico links our pinkies and swings our hands, “Then don't.” Smiling, I snort, shaking my head, “You're all over the place, huh?” Nico side-eyes me, mirth dancing under that hard, glassy layer, “I'm always all over the place.” I don't disagree.

He looks around, smiling, “You'll get sick of the rain soon, promise. It's coming up to Fall; it always rains then.” I raise an eyebrow, “What about winter? Do you get snow?” He nods, “Duh. What do you get?” I shrug, kicking more of the ash, “Sludge.” Scrunching his nose, he shivers a little, “Sounds miserable.” Nodding, I grin, “It is. I'm glad I left.”

Nico hums, bumping shoulders with me, “New York must be missing its sunshine by now.” I nod, shrugging, “Probably. Too bad it's not coming back.” I smirk at him, “I'm afraid sunshine is a little occupied with death to be of service.” I nuzzle him a little, feeling the vibration of his chuckle through his neck.

“I can back up on that.” And before I know it, he's throwing himself at me, causing us to fall to the damp sand in a mess of limbs and a cacophony of laughter. “Nico -” He smashes our mouths together, grinning messily, and I feel our teeth clack together, and my lip gets caught between his teeth: it's wonderful. I love it. (I love him, but we all knew that.)

Pulling back, he peers down at me. Hands on either side of my head, legs flanking my hips. His dark eyes are filled with stars, but I see my own reflect in their glass abyss, and I find that our eyes merge create this illusion of the black sea. He blinks, grinning those sharp teeth that make my insides quiver with excitement. The rain makes his hair frizz and stick up; it's adorable. He raises an eyebrow, glowering, “You better not be thinking that I'm cute, Shark Bait.” I chuckle, shaking my head, “Never, Ghost King.” He looks at me expectantly.

I sigh, and collapse into his arms, hand to my forehead, “Oh, my Ghost King – so _manly_ and _strong;_ how _the fuck ever_ would I confuse you for cute? How?!” I swoon.

He drops me with a satisfied cackle, the asshole.

* * *

I step in, soaked, and grinning goofily. Poseidon sits at the kitchen table, Hades opposite him. I wave a little, running a hand through my hair, toeing my boots off at the door. I pick them up, and Poseidon waves me in, “Percy, c'mere, kiddo!”

Smiling, I trudge into the kitchen. Water drips from me onto the floor tiled flooring. Hades raises an eyebrow over the rim of his mug, “Your son looks like a wet dog, 'Seidon.” My dad shrugs, and pats the seat between them, “Oh well. Not far from a fish, eh?” The adults chuckle a little over the presumed inside joke, before Poseidon smiles solicitously, “We've been talking, Percy,” He says.

Hades hums, but remains quiet. “We're taking Hazel and Tyson out to the aquarium this weekend, and we'd be very happy if you came along. Y'know, as a family.” I frown a little, “But Nico won't be there.” My father shrugs, rubbing his neck, “No, no he wont. But you can still come, Percy.” I shrug, “I dunno. I'll think about it.” Hades hums again, “Make up your mind, kid; I need those tickets before Saturday.” I nod, “I'll have my mind set on Friday,” I tell them, before absconding up the stairs.

I sigh heavily, and all the fuzzy feelings inside quickly evacuate my system. Nico wont be here this weekend. I have the rest of tonight, tomorrow, and what I can grapple of Friday to have him. Scratching my cheek, I hum a little, leaning against my door. A shiver wracks my frame, and I decide to dry off and change into something more comfortable. I'm in the middle of pulling my sweatpants off when I purr comes from the window, “Damn, I'm _loving_ this view, sugar.”

Releasing this soft sound, I turn to find him perches on my window, eyes glued to my ass. I laugh, pulling my pants all the way up, before propping my window up some more for him to come through. He's still wet, I see. Hair matted to his forehead, some of it curling along his nose. It's cute.

Nico yawns a little, flushed, “Missed you.” My hands come to settle on his waist; his shirt is damp under my fingers, and if I splay them wide enough, I can feel the bottom of his ribs with my pointer fingers and the subtle curve of his boyish hips with my pinkies. “Only been gone for ten minutes, baby,” I mutter. He shrugs, fingers twitching to touch me, but he's conscious of the fact that he's still dripping rainwater onto my carpet.

Smiling, I lead him over to the center of my room, and grab a towel – I had two of them, one on my desk from being recently washed, the other being the one I used – and hand it to him. Then I open the closet, separating the pair of us, and riffle through my clothing for something for him to wear. I pull out one of my old sweaters; something my mom knit me a year ago, and a pair of sweatpants covered in little fish.

I hold them out around the door for him. He takes them, there's some rustling, and he peeks around. He's swamped by the sweater, and it's adorable. His nose is barely peeking over the neck, and his hands are gone. Just the tips of his fingers poking out. I grab his towel and dry his hair quickly, watching his eye twitch a little. It's his bruised one, and I think it must be sore by now. “Still missed you, though,” He muffles.

Chuckling, I scoop him up and onto my bed, coming to curl up beside him. I tug the comforter around us, until it's just us under the layer. Nico purrs more, content to listen to my heart. “I'll miss you more, come Friday,” I mutter.

He blinks at me, looking sad, before he shuffles up to kiss me, “Shut it, you. We have phones, if I recall correctly, and I gave you my fucking number, numbnuts.” I laugh against his head, and nod, “Yeah...” He raises an eyebrow, “But?” I shrug, arms winding around him, “Wont be the same.” Nico shrugs, and his fingers curl into my shirt, “Beggars can't be choosers, sugar.”

I hum, “What's that mean?”

He looks at me wistfully, before smirking, “Love me while I'm here.” He doesn't need to worry about that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I've decided to wrap this up to 20 chapters, and whatever happens within the remaining few is a mystery, ~~because I haven't planned yet~~ and then I'll start working on the sequel, which I have no idea about what to call, no less what to call the series.
> 
> Anybody got any ideas?


	17. For The Days I Have You - Pt 1

_You have today._  
_For as long as you can hold on,  
__you'll have today_.

\- Atticus

*

**CHAPTER SEVENTEEN**

His words stump me, and I'm rendered useless in the face of his crow-quality eyes and his wolf-like smile. It's charming, in it's own way, how his smile curls sweetly.

Hand in mine, he pulls me along, keeps me afloat in the waters as I marvel. Pale rain and light skies, his hair glows like a halo from the breached heavens.

I don't know when I had such a way with words, but I blame him. Him and his whimsy, it's a hard thing to not get caught in. Like a miasma in the air; inevitable in the end.

But he smiles, and whilst the days are flying by at a dangerous rate, I will hold tightly what time we have together in the days ahead of us.

“C'mon Percy,” He says, smiling in that way that has me speechless, “The world's waiting.”

* * *

Nico scowls at the floor. He's been scowling for five minutes, maybe six. I chuckle, watching him sit on my bed, arms crossed, glowering at the floor. It's six in the morning; sun filtering through my blinds once again, but this time, whilst my body desperately wants to pull another sick card, I get up.

“What's got you so stubborn?” I ask, rummaging through my closet for clothing. Nico shakes his head, and huffs, “I have to wake up.” I snort, and look him up and down. He's still in my clothes, and whilst he looks reluctant to even get up, I throw him a pair of jeans. He takes them, growling darkly as he shucks off the sweatpants and wriggles into the new article of clothing. I roll my eyes, pulling a _Jaws 1_ shirt over my head, “You better not tear my fucking jeans, dude – those are new.”

Nico runs a hand through his hair, standing. He ignores me warning, and mutters, “You're not getting this shirt back, by the way. I'm stealing it from you.” He runs a hand down it, smoothing any wrinkles. I chuckle softly, watching him carefully fold the clothes I'd given him yesterday; my mom's sweater on top. I drop them back into my closet.

“Fine, fine,” I mutter, and duck down to peck his cheek. The bruised one. He whines a little, almost keening, and watch him shiver a little. Cute. He snags his finger into my belt-loop and tug my jeans before letting them go with a snap. I yelp, but it dissolves into a smile when I catch him snickering at me, “Nice ass, sugar.” I roll my eyes, “C'mon, you, we've got time before school.” I watch him blink, shoulders sagging, “Do we _have to?_ ”

No. We can take the day off. I'd love to just lay here and listen to you ramble for hours.

He knows my resolve is crumbling, was barely there in the first place. I can see it in the way his eyes gleam a little with that equivocal quality, the way his lips curl 'innocently', eyelashes batting alluringly. I shake my head, and he pouts, “But Perrrrrcy -” He purrs, clawing at the hem of my shirt. “Nope,” I say, pulling a jacket on. It might rain again, which I am all in for.

Nico sighs heavily, and swipes his jacket from the desk chair, “Hate you.” Rolling my eyes, I grab his hand, “We're gonna go get breakfast, c'mon. I saw a cute lil café down on tenth street.” He rolls his eyes, “But there's a coffee shop on Amnisty Avenue that's _closer_.” He drawls it out childishly, flopping on my bed.

Now I know what my mother went through when I was nine.

I scoop him up into my arms, his body over my shoulder. He flails, gasping a little, “ _Down_ , put me right _the fuck down, Percy –_ giuro su dio!” His nails dig into my shoulders a little as I duck through the door of my bedroom and stroll down the stairs. I briefly feel for wallet and keys in my pocket, and grab my backpack on the way down. Nico's seething when I settle him on his porch steps.

Motioning for him to get his things, he flips me off before storming off to his window. I wait around, nonplussed and very amused, and look around. The neighborhood is very vacant, I find, and come to the realization that I don't actually know anybody who lives here. I see a woman with graying hair and a flowery skirt sitting on her porch steps, enjoying the sunlight quietly. There's a man beside Nico's house that sits on a tree stump, polishing his shotgun with an old rag.

He catches my eye with pale blue ones, and he offers me a smile through his scraggly beard, “Mornin', neighbor.” I nod politely, and tread up to the rickety fence between us, “Hello,” I mutter. His hair is almost white, and wrinkles show how much he's smiled in his lifetime – around his eyes and his mouth. Dark skin, but scars little a lot of it; and judging by the badges shining on a jacket that hangs on his postbox, he must've served for the country at one point or another.

“I'm Darrel; don't think we've met. You're new, right?” I nod, and smile a little, “Uh, yeah. Moved in with my dad,” I say, jerking my head back to my home. Darrel nods, polishing his gun with methodical movement, “You friends with the di Angelo?” I scratch my nose, “Yeah – Nico and Hazel. Why?” His eyes age a little more, far from the youth I saw in them moments ago, and he smiles softly, “The older one's meant to be comin' home. Just be careful.” I furrow my eyebrows, “Why?”

Darrel smirks, and wipes his rag across his forehead, “Nico an' Bianca don't get on too well.” I sigh heavily, “So I've heard.” The aged man stands, and comes to lean on the fence opposite me, “Just be wary, kid.” I nod, clearing my throat a little. A thud comes from behind me, before Nico appears at my side. His eyes become guarded, “Mason.” Darrel nods, pushing from the fence, “di Angelo.”

Nico twirls me around, and we're suddenly striding through the streets once more. I wave halfheartedly to Darrel, before turning back, “What's that all ab -” Nico sighs through his nose, “What'd he say to you?” I blink widely, mind reeling from the sudden change, “Uh – 'the older one's meant to be coming home' -” My boyfriend sours, and releases my wrist, slowing to a more moderate speed, “Fucking...”

He shakes his head, and for a moment, I forget that I'm meant to pretend that I don't know that Bianca's coming home soon, and reach out. I stop myself from saying 'I already knew, it's not that big of a surprise' just in time. Nico rakes a hand through his scalp, teeth grit – denial is written all over his face - “She's _not_ coming home, Percy, ignore the old fucker; people get senile quick down here. The heat, or some shit.” I sigh heavily, and pat his shoulder, “Okay, buddy.” He nods, “Okay.”

“For the record,” I start, feeling his breath on my arm, from where it rests on his shoulder, “Bianca coming home isn't the end of the world, babe.” He glares at me, “She isn't coming home.” I raise an eyebrow, “Why are you so fucking against her coming back?” Nico shakes his head, turning away from me. He becomes lost from this angle, like an illusion – one perspective being far different from another.

From a side-eye's glance, he's desolate; misty gazes and ashen gray with hopelessly sleepless nights. If he is to turn to me, and I am witness to his entire face, he is furious; glares dark enough to squeeze your lungs of all air and you're splayed open to the bruises on the left side of his face. They're like his wounds – well they are, duh – personified anguish written on his face.

“Bianca died when hope did, Percy.”

His words are barely heard, smothered by the breeze that drags between us, but I catch it. I'll always hear what he says, I can't _not_ hear it – I crave his voice too much, yearn for the ichor that drips from his lips with every lie and the honey that thickens his tongue within those moments alone and he's teasing at my dismay.

I blink, swallowing thickly. The information is hard to digest, and the fact that he's still not looking at me, still lovesick for something dead is just...it twists me wrongly. “What?” I choke out. I don't know if he's being literal or not; I'll always need clarification when he falls into his labyrinth mind. Nico shrugs,

“My sister became a stranger when life needed us to grow up. She grew too fast, and got lost in the crowd. Got trampled under their expectations.” His smirk is heartbreakingly heartless, and the dead-eyed, beadiness of his crow eyes is neither lonely nor angry. Just a blank stare at the concrete below his feet.

“And I guess I did, too.”

* * *

We end up going to my choice of food joint. It's got this enticing atmosphere to it, even for quarter past six in the morning; checkered flooring and wood-panel walls, pale-green curtains and a patterned rug that centers the little place. Rounded tables – sleek, polished oak – and the cash register in the center of the shop with a cake case beside it, a coffee machine on the other side.

The girl at the cash register yawns loudly as we enter, picking at chipped wood on the counter, “What the hell are you doing here so early? I've barely opened up yet.” Nico scoffs, “The sign says open, lady, so start serving.” I roll my eyes, “Be nice, Nico, she's tired.” He rolls his eyes back at me, scuffing the recently mopped flooring rudely. My boyfriend never was cut out for the _morning person_ vibe.

I run a hand through my hair, smiling apologetically, “Sorry 'bout him; he's a grouch in the mornings.” She has blonde hair, straw-like and curly, falling in ringlets from her ponytail. The image hurts. She's got near-silver eyes, though they're more of a dull gray ringed with a darker shade, instead of the vibrancy in Annabeth's eyes. She has a less attractive mouth, too, and that's mean, I should stop.

“Can we get two black coffees with a shot of espresso? And one of those cream bagels.” She huffs, and slams two paper cups onto the side and presses some buttons before leaving the coffee machine to grab the metal tongues and dish a cream bagel into a disposable styrofoam box.

Okay, I get that it's early, and Nico's being a brat, but seriously?

Sighing, I run a hand down my face and fork over the money once she slams the coffee onto the counter. She snatches it, stuffing it into the cash register. I don't like her fucking face, I decide. Nico examines his nails, swiping his coffee from the counter and swiftly strode to the doors. I sigh, thank her under my breath, before jogging a little after my boyfriend. The doors slam shut behind me, and I wince as the glass rattles.

So this little place is crossed off on my list of places to explore.

“What was that for?” I inquire. Nico sighs around the rim of his coffee, and shrugs, “Non-morning people don't get along with others of their kin.” I roll my eyes, but smile when he shuffles to press up against my side. For a while, we circuit slowly through the streets, toward school. “How did you sleep last night, by the way?”

Nico shrugs, rubbing an eye, “Fine.” He winces when he jabs his bruise too harshly with his knuckle. I kiss it better. He smiles sweetly, smelling like ripe coffee beans and extra sugar; he was already perking up. “You?” He inquires.

And this is where I waggle my eyebrows and grin, “Oh baby, with you next to me, everything is just _fine_ , you get me?” He snorts, shoving me, “Fucking dumbass.” But Nico continues to smile, and his morning is made.

* * *

Yawning, Nico curls up to me a little. I smile, and stare at the messy paper garlands we've made, all the decorations inside this stupid billboard habitat. It's got character, I'll give it that. We're never here enough to actually have memories here, but as I am reminded of the existence of my camera, I pull it out and snap a few pictures of the place. Then I knock my head with Nico's, grinning as he sips his coffee leisurely. I can see the curl of a smile around the rim.

I take a few more photos – the sun starting to show its face over the neighborhoods below, the way the clouds cluster in cotton candy pinks and lavender lilacs further into the sky, but closer to the sun, it's like somebody got their fingers in blood and smeared it across a jaundiced yellow background. I adore it so very much. I just do. There's such a diversity down here that there never was in New York, and I'm a sucker for it.

Nico gets up at one point, leaning his forearms on the fairy-light laced framework, coffee in the loose grasp of his fingers. He looks beautiful, just like that. I take a picture of that, too, of the way his hair is set on fire, all the features of his face accentuated by the shadow, from the harshness of the lighting, and it's just. Throughout it all, his eyes are still so eerily dark and swallowing. Even the sun can't light them.

It's nothing close to professional work, but it's mine, and that's what makes it special. Nico hums, staring into the sun in that way he always does so early in the mornings, with that burdened look of _why do you do this to me, you fucking asshole?_

Nonchalantly, he mentions, “You should become a photographer one day.” My heart swells a little, and I smile. I appreciate his comments, but I shake my head with a smile, “Nah. I'm amateur at best.” Nico just shrugs.

Amateur is an understatement. I'll never be able to capture the way the darkness lingers to him in some way, how his life is so much more than his attire, and I'll never be able to get ahold of that distance that lingers in his eyes, or the cynicism that lingers on his teeth, and I'll never be able to show through my photos how he tastes so bittersweet all the time, or how his words were all he needed to have somebody breaking their back for him, how he's so unique and desolate in this transfixing way that you can't snap out fast enough to save him.

So no, I don't think I will become a photographer one day. But if I'm to give myself those standards, and I am to project them onto others, then I guess nobody is a true photographer. Nobody would be able to splay Nico open like that. He's just too guarded.

Life made him that way, I guess.

* * *

Lou greets us with a shrill sound of desperation, literally tearing Nico away from me to mourn her soon-to-be loss for the weekend. “Why do you have to go!” She wails, and Cecil soon joins. Will chuckles softly, coming to stand beside me, “Sorry 'bout that, Shark Bait.” I shrug, trying to quel the jealousy when Nico cackles loudly, and whirls around with Cecil in his arms, Lou on his back.

I smile, shoving my fists into my pockets, “It's whatever. How you doing, anyways? Haven't talked in a while.” Will blinks blue eyes at me lazily, sipping from an espresso from Costa in the shopping district, “Been good, I guess. Pa's meant to be home, but...” His smile falls, eyebrows furrowing. I pat his shoulder, “But...?” Will shrugs, hand in his hair, “Startin' to think maybe Nico was right, all those bleedin' months ago.” I raise an eyebrow, “What'd he say?”

Will kicks dirt, “My pa ain't comin' home anytime soon. An' I jus' bitter 'bout it, I guess. Nothin' too heavy, man, just a lil' annoyed. It'll pass.” He grins back at me again, but I still see the anguish that curdles his stomach. I hum, slinging my arms around his shoulders, “Shit dude – sorry to hear that.” The blond shrugs again, and chuckles softly.

His blue eyes drag to the trio. Nico playing ragdoll as Lou and Cecil swing him back and forth by his arms and legs to a pile of leaves on the green. Will scratches his nose, “Careful, y'all! Tweedle Dum, Tweedle Dee, ya hear?” Lou flips him off shakily, “Fuck you, cowboy! We got Nico plenty fine!” She grins, and on three, she flings Nico's gangly body across the few feet to the leaves. Cecil didn't let go exactly on time, and grimaces when Nico get's thrown oddly.

He slams his head on the concrete, and I can feel my heart stutter.

Nico groans loudly, unmoving. Shit. Shit. I race over to him, “What the fuck were you thinking?” I yell, though at who, I have no clue. Will pants, at my side almost instantaneously, “Oh damn,” He mutters, gently helping Nico sit up, “You 'kay there?” Nico nods, holding back a pained yell, a hand creeping to cradle his skull, “I will be.”

He meets my eyes, and smiles, “Seriously.” Lou and Cecil hover cautiously, worried, ashamed. I can't help but think they should be, if they're thinking up stupid shit like this in the first place. Nico stands up on unsteady feet, hand heavy on my shoulder. He grins at them, reeling them in to nuggie their scalps, “Chill, seriously. It isn't your fault -” It is, really, it fucking is, I swear to god - “I should've known it was a bad idea. Nobody's in the wrong, here, okay? Get the fuck over it, seriously. I'm alive, living, not gonna die 'til I'm twenty-five, you hear?”

Lou and Cecil nod into his shoulder and chest, from where he awkwardly hugs them with one arm. Will stands, coming to rest a hand on his upper back, “Be careful, Nico. We should get you an ice pack, get the nurse to see if you have a concussion.” He waves his hand half-ass-edly, snorting, “Nah, Will, seriously. I'm fine, okay?” He looks at each one of them, in the eyes, and I can see the earest honesty in them, how hard he's trying to get it into their heads that _he's okay, stop worrying, he's fine, seriously, please stop worrying. Please._

But what I see is completely different. His eyes are glazed over, though seemingly normal, I can tell they're tears. He wants to scream, I can see from the way his throat's constricting and his teeth are clenched together a little too harshly. His fingers on my shoulder dig in a little too deep, and as he retracts his other arm, his hand gingerly prods around the hurt area; he discreetly checks for blood. “See?” He chuckles, a little hoarse, and I see relief flood through him, “No blood.” I don't get how he plays it off so well. I hate it.

Will sighs heavily, looking distraught, “We need to get you to a nurse, di Angelo -”

“I said _I'm fucking fine, Solace._ ” Nico grits out, agitated now. I stand, resting my hand warningly on the small of his back. He snaps out of it almost instantly, guilt flashing across his face at the startled look on Will's face. And the other two's. He swallows, sighing forcefully through his nose. Then he slaps on a smile and suddenly they all forget about the ordeal, “I'm okay. C'mon, we gotta get going, right?”

He glances at me, and I cock my head. They're all under his spell, and it's ridiculous to what lengths they go to satiate him and keep him calm, even if it comes down to his well being. I fucking despise it, yet, I find myself affected by this dark magic of his. “You're sure?” I mouth. Nico nods with determination, and a hand flies to cradle his head some more.

Before I can even ask again, he shoots me this _look._

And suddenly I forget what we were talking about.

* * *

Third period in, and I'm surprised he's lasted this long, in all honesty. Nico sits at his desk, scribbling something on his desk, like he's done for the past two hours, and throws notes at Tanaka, continues to be a nuisance. But he hasn't left yet.

It's thrown Lou into a stiff stupor, she herself pouring into the textbook on _Of Mice and Men_ by Somebody Something-beck. It wasn't even for this class – geometry: fucking murder me – but I'm not one to judge. I'm struggling to finish some shitty calculus homework due in next period, but something tells me Nico's quickly reaching his limit.

Will sits beside me, and he grins when he notices me glancing, “You need any help?” He inquires, nodding to my papers. I shake my head, sighing heavily, “You think something's up with Nico?” The blond blinks, before turning to look at Nico. I do too, finding him concentrating deeply on something he's scrawling into the desk. I find that he's littered at least half of it with things that I can't read upside down, but what I see is that he's using a permanent marker. No hope in his scrawls ever being erased. I smile a little, but turn back to Will.

He shrugs, scratching his head, “A lil' focus never hurt nobody, Shark Bait.” I hum, furrowing my eyebrows, “I've never known him to stay here so fucking long. It's almost end of class, for fuck's sake.” Will shrugs again, picking at the dog-eared corner of his exercise book, “Reckon he's just offset today?” I shrug, feeling confused and out of the loop, “I'unno,” I slur. Will chuckles, patting my head as I press my cheek to my desk.

“Sunshine,” Cecil moans a little, kicking Will's chair. I look to him, finding him with a few loose dollars in his pocket and a significant lack in gum sticks or rubber bands. Must've traded some stuff. Will sighs, craning back to blink at the curly haired boy upside down, “What, 'Cil?” The boy scratches his nose, stuffing his hands into his oversized, gray hoodie, “I wanna bounce.”

Will sighs, “A lil' longer, will you? We'll do some stuff after school -”

Nico stands up, stretching until his shirt rides up a little. I find myself among many that start to drool at the sliver of skin above his beltline, but instead of longing like the others, I smirk at the fact that _he's mine_. He's _my_ catch. I caught him.

He's my Pokémon.

(Awkward cough.)

“Where're you going?” I ask. He shrugs, and swings his arms a little. The teacher – Ms Blackburn – clears her throat, pushing her glasses up her nose, “Mr di Angelo, sit down. Now.” He shrugs, shaking his head, “I'm good,” He says softly, hoisting his bag to his shoulder, clicking the cap back onto his pen.

I watch the hautily dressed woman move to fold her arms, stalking to the door and standing in front of it, as if it'd make a difference. Lou perks up a little, blinking at him like a puppy expectant of something. “Sit down, Mr di Angelo, and let me resume teaching.” Nico slides open the window and flips her off, dropping the two stories into a roll, landing safely.

Everybody gasps, except me, since I've already barreled past her to reach the bottom before he scampers off alone. I'm panting as I exit the doors, sprinting around the back to find him just reaching the parking lot, “Hey – wait up, would ya?” I shout, jogging over to him. He blinks at me over his shoulder, looking dazed, “Hm?” He yawns.

Clumsily, I ruffle his hair, “Where're you going?” I ask again, only for him to shrug _again_. I sigh, linking our hands lazily, “We just gonna wander?” He nods. I'm okay with that, I think, for him to just want to roam and have no reason or motive. It's a difference from his routine of this and now. Pleasant, almost.

He smiles when I gaze at him, lost in the faded spray of freckles on the bridge of his nose. Cute, I think, not bothering to correct myself. “Sorry,” He murmurs to me, as we walk. Raising an eyebrow, I question him quietly, and state, “You're sorry for a lot of things, babe.” His smile turns bitter, and he hums, “Yeah? Never noticed.” It's said in dry jest, but I feel the weight that drags him down.

“Why're you sorry this time?” I inquire. Nico shrugs, “I don't care enough about my future to attend something that's supposed to improve it.” I'm silent, finding the secrets between the lies, and learning that they give me nothing. Much like school gives him nothing.

I smile, ruffling his hair, “Whatever makes you happy, Nico.” He side-eyes me, smirking sardonically, “Then I'll be gone by twenty-five.” I feel a rock plummet to my feet, but nod anyways.

* * *

“You know,” Jason sighs heavily, thumbing through an essay he was working on; going over it for mistakes and ways to improve it, I presume. Nico shrugs, examining his nails, like he's been doing a lot lately. My eyelids are heavy in the face of the tangerine skies laced with cotton candy, the sun in it's forever hanging shape of scarlet on the horizon. It never seems to rise, I find, only set, in a loop – over and over. Eternally.

Reyna hums, fiddling with loose splinters in the park bench, Jason pouring over his work beside her. I enjoy how they simply coexist, in the way very alike to me and Nico, really. She seems compliant to just be there to fill a void and understand that there isn't always a necessity to fill the silence.

Nico rests his chin on his folded arms as Jason continues in that very reprimanding, adult tone he's had years to perfect, “If you actually stayed in school for half the lessons, you wouldn't need me to proof-read your essays for you.” He jots down something in red pen, and it's only until the blond finishes his comment that I realize that Jason's re-reading _Nico's_ essay: not his own. I find it sort of funny, to be honest.

My boyfriend yawns again, picking at the wooden surface in a mirrored action of Reyna's. Said girl hums distractedly, “He's right, fratello.” Nico rolls his eyes, knocking knees with me under the table, “Whatever, guys. Stop worrying about me and make sure you two don't stress yourselves to fuckin' death.” Because they do, I can see it in the weariness of their states and how they hold themselves overassertively within the confines of the school. Golden Couple; the pride and the power, the face of the school and the embodiment of its reputation. I'm proud of them.

“Will Lou and the others be joining us?” Reyna queries, adopting Nico's nail-examining flex of her fingers. He shakes his head, starting to drum on the table, “Lou's got band practice, Cecil's off with the Stolls someplace getting high as shit, and Will's gotta be somewhere with Kayla or some fuck.” I smile, rolling my eyes.

The crow eyed boy's phone buzzes, and he checks the ID before settling it back on the table. Apparently nobody important. It buzzes again, the screen lighting up. I catch the sight of **_Neglect Personified_** , and realize it's his dad. Shit. “What did you do now to get his attention?” Jason tuts, circling a certain jumble of words and scrawling something that looks like _informal language,_ but I'm not sure.

Nico rolls his eyes, “Why does it always have to be me that did something wrong?” Both the blond and the brunette look up at him, unimpressed with his reply. He flushes pink, looking agitated more so than offended, and he folds his arms, “If its that urgent, he'll call me.” As the words leave his mouth, Nico's ringtone starts screeching through his tiny speakers.

He huffs again, picking it up and wordlessly excusing himself from the table. He stalks off to a small group of asp trees near the kids' playground, and leans against the purple-painted fencing with the phone wedged to his ear, cigarette being lighted in his hands.

Before me, the blue eyed boy sighs heavily, and slams the essay back onto the table, “Done.” He sighs heavily, “Finally.” Reyna pats him, rewarding him with a kiss on the cheek, “Well done.” I smile at them, before taking Nico's homework and slipping it into his bag. I don't both trying to read through all the red pen I saw on it. Reyna gazes over to Nico with that worn, withered look my mother would give me sometimes, and wonder what right she had to glower at him with such offhandedness, until I'm smacked in the face with the fact that she's always been allowed to.

“Why do you guys grill him down so much?” I ask. A simple question; innocent, to me. But apparently not, since Jason gets all defensive and Reyna reels back on her bench and crosses her legs, resting a hand on her cheek and turning away from my boyfriend.

“We don't.” They mutter mullishly.

Rolling my eyes, and lean forward, “It's obvious you do, guys,” I inform them. Jason runs a hand through his hair, shaking his head, “He's right, Rey;” She glances to him with mocha eyes, “We do hammer hard on him a little.” She shakes her head, fiddling with her braid, “Well – he needs it. He's a fucking loose canon, he can't just go prowling like he owns the fucking world.” Jason sighs quietly, and I can tell they've had this conversation before, and I feel like I already know where it's going despite never having heard them discuss it. I cut it short with my own input.

“I just. Leave him be; he's got a lot on his plate, and there's always programs online he can attend.” It shuts them up relatively quickly, and the can of worms is resealed.

* * *

“He's so fucking annoying, I swear to god, I want to _throttle him and watch him choke_.” I pat Nico's back, feeling him rock back and forth. He's near foaming at the mouth, blind fury in his eyes that's enough to start wars all on its own, with the additional frenzy of shaking hands and clacking teeth with every word he spits out.

“What did he do?” I inquire. Nico calms for a moment, to contain himself, before he spews more words apoplectically. It's been a long few hours, really.

Sighing heavily, he slumps against me, shaking his head, “He's just a dick, that's all. Nothing important, really.” Ducking to kiss him feels natural, and the way he leans in for more is wonderful.

* * *

Sitting on the roof is always a nice thing to do. Especially Nico's roof, because you get a better view of everything since the roof is higher in peak. I soda rests in my hand, the other resting just above Nico's waist, and his head rests on my shoulder.

“I'm thinking of writing a book,” He tells me, and I'm intrigued almost instantly. “Oh?” I prod, turning to look to him. Before us is endless sunsets that I will watch until the day I die, a happy man with my love and my honey, and greeting death a little tipsy and helplessly in love. Nico smiles, shrugging, “I dunno. Just quotes I hear teenagers say, maybe. An entire book dedicated to the quotations or thought processes of a teenager.”

I squeeze his side, nodding, “I like that idea. Write up some of it for me? When you're gone, give you something to do.” He smiles sweetly, clearly encouraged by the fact that I'm entertaining the idea. “You'll be the first to see it, then.” Then he drinks some of his crappy energy drink, turning to stare into the sun.

It's a peach color, a few hours before the true sunset, but I love it. The night-cover clouds are rolling in form behind us, the few early stars shining weakly. The sun streams into people's windows, and I can just see the start of the ocean getting set on fire (metaphorically,) and the beaches embroidered in gold. I pull out my camera and take a photo. Then one of Nico, again, of his illuminated face, so at peace and uncharacteristically balanced with the world.

He slumps against me, like he has so many times today, and nuzzles my neck. “You smell good,” He says, getting a chuckle form me. He continues drearily, tired and sleep deprived – though they're the same thing within themselves, if I am to be technical - “I'd bottle your scent up like sand in a seaglass, maybe,” He slur, myself finding it cute and adorable all the more worthy of my affection, “Or - or a deodorant. Wear it all the time, just so I'm with you.”

I smile, petting his hair, “Of course, baby.”

Wrinkling his nose, he nuzzles me again, “Love you Percy.” I nod, stroking some loose wisps behind his ear, “I love you, too, Nico.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only three chapters left! Don't worry, I've actually got some shit planned out this time - even if it's all just very loose guidlines I'll end up completely ignoring when it comes down to it.
> 
> Just a head's up - Nico's chapter on the final chapter is gonna be a little different. It's gonna be from his POV, sure, like normal, but it's gonna be more focused on the past few days leading up to Friday (From Thursday onwards, I think,) So it'll have a little bit from the past week, but other than that, their final day together is gonna be from Nico's perspective, so we'll see a couple squabbles with Hades, probably, a teary goodbye with Hazel and some other sappy stuff, and the day going with the gang, and some other stuff. SO, it's all set in the present, despite what i said about liking Nico to have a POV from a little behind everything else. Hope that's okay with everybody.


	18. For The Days I Have You - Pt 2

_Take the day and leave us the moon,_  
_'carpe noctum',  
_ _and we will seize the night._

\- Atticus

*

**CHAPTER EIGHTEEN**

I find that the night is always the best hours; to watch him thrive in the time he belongs in – swathed in the darkness the world provides and embracing the night.

Moonlight is where it's at; the thing his eyes reflect, the dark pools shimmering with the stars and the moons and the planets until I find myself falling into galaxies.

Because he's nebulous, I find, like I always, because I'm always finding things, really, since I learn as I go and understand the idea of observe and don't touch.

I'll break him if I touch him, I think. But he's so enticing, so beautiful, and you just want to feel the smoothness of his porcelain skin. Feel his bones between your fingers and apply pressure  _just so_ , and watch him shiver.

However, he is forever untouchable.

* * *

We linger on the rooftop for a little longer, before the sun is smothered by the horizon, and I like to believe it was swallowed by the waves that lap at the fading red glow. After that, everything quickly darkens, and I sigh heavily. The air is cool tonight, cooler than Nico's skin against mine, crisper than the petrichor scent that clings to his hair.

Our hands are laced, like they always are now days. He blinks at me – I don't notice the way his eyes glimmer blindingly - “Let's go somewhere. It'll be Friday soon, and I'll be gone.” I nod, willing, always so compliant for him. I have no reason to change; I love him, I'll break my spine for him. (“You're too young to understand love, you idiot,” Shut it. I don't want to fucking hear it; there's more to the two-week period I've known him, like I've known him all my life and longer. I just can't place it.)

We slide along the tiles easily enough, hopping to the tree that groans and sways under our momentum, before we land. I stumble a little, only for him to hip-check me back into a stable position. He disappears back into his room, returning with a bag over his shoulder.

A chuckle bubbles from my mouth, and I watch the moonlight catch on his teeth, illuminating his smile. He holds a hand out to me, which I obviously grab, and before I know it we're running through the streets.

“Where to?” I ask over the breeze. My only response is Nico's boots thumping on the cracked concrete, our pants echoing through the slumbering streets in this quiet little town. Eventually, Nico turns back to me, blinking widely with that look in his eye that entails trouble and excitement, “Goin' for a swim!” He tells me.

A hoarse, throaty laughter is what booms from me, from somewhere deep in my chest. He marvels, myself forcing myself to speed up to keep up with him despite the exertion it causes. I don't want to be left behind. Another one of those loud laughs comes from me, accompanied by the harsh cackles that forces their way through Nico's teeth. Every time we laugh – no science behind it, no logic, just unadulterated joy – it's like weights falling from my shoulders by the ton. Now I know why my father laughs so much, with that loud hearty laugh. It's like years being released by the dozen.

“You laugh like just like your fuckin' dad, Shark Bait!” Nico smirks. Huffing through my nose, I just smile at him; my eyes widen as he grabs the pole at the end of the street and propels himself _left_ instead of right, which would be to the beach, where the water is. I follow him anyways, easily catching up with him.

The stars bare down on us, and as I crane to glance at them, I imagine somebody looking down on us and just chuckling at our antics.

My eyes quickly drop, searching for my dark-clothed boyfriend in a world shrouded in night. His eyes flash like a dog's from an alley – I'm reminded of how much more creature he is than human. He blinks, and I jog over, grinning, “Sorry, got -”

A low growl comes from the alley.

My heart leaps into my throat and I quickly reel back. Why the fuck would I think that's Nico? This mangy dog leaps from atop a dumpster, circling me in the empty road, snarling and restless. Where did my boyfriend go? Holding my hands out, I force my breathing to calm, “Hey, boy, I didn't mean no beef, okay -” The dog lunges at my feet, and it's a damn miracle I jump back in time. My toes would be gone otherwise.

Shit. Shit. The dog circles me some more, starting to bark loudly. “Percy?” I hear a voice call, but it's distorted over the sound of the mutt. I glue my eyes to the dog, hands out defensively. I don't wanna hurt him; he's just a stray, after all. “Back off, fucker!” I hear again, and a _metal pipe_ whizzes past me, clattering very close to the stray's snout, and it yelps.

Nico strides in, looking badass, if not a little confused, but intimidating no less. “Away!” He snaps, the stray running off with its tail between its legs. My boyfriend turns to me, teasing smirk on his face, a retort on the tip of his tongue. “Don't.” I cut him off, just running a hand through my hair. My other hand grabs his, and before he can even whine, I've got him running again with me closely on his tail.

My heart pounds loudly, blood alive in my veins. Nico skips a little, letting out a whoop of exhilaration. “Where're we going?” I ask again, because I don't recognize where we're going, really. His dark eyes – no, they don't flash in the way an animal would; filmy and block silver. They're dripping startlight, they're beautiful – slide to me, blinking through the wind. _Nowhere,_ they tell me, his eyes, _we're running free_.

“I told you; we're going swimming.”

And there's a brief moment where I think back to the closed off public swimming pool, but it quickly leaves my head in favor of imprinting this moment of joy in there. I turn back, seeing lights in houses start to flicker on at the ruckus we're causing, and I feel a burst of pride at the idea that _they can't catch us_.

My heart squeezes in a way that I can only describe as _rush_.

* * *

 

Wrought-iron fencing cuts us from a dirt path that travels deep into the darkness. “Oh god, is this Alley O' Nothing again?” I groan. Nico shakes his head, adjusting the strap of his bag, “Nah. Just hold my hand; I know this path like a map of fucking hell.” I don't get the simile, but I roll my eyes anyways and watch him play around with the padlock on the gate.

“No dice,” He mutters, glaring at it a little. Then, with a nonchalant shrug, he scales the fencing and hooks his leg over the other side. I wish I was as agile as that, fucking hell. I hurry after him, though, getting over the fence easily enough. I don't even bother reading the _Do Not Enter_ sign that's nailed up on the gate. I grab Nico's hand, finding that a thick darkness swathed over everything here. Nico hums quietly, pressing against me for reassurance, and I'm grateful.

“Seriously, where the fuck is this? Why don't I ever get told about this shit?” I complain, if only to fill the silence. Nico makes a sound, tugging me to the right, and then the left; for a second it felt like we went in a circle. A low, creaking sound comes from my left, and I tense. Nico pets my hand with his thumb, “It's the bridge, Percy, relax.” We turn towards the 'bridge'.

“Bridge?” I inquire, listening for water and hearing nothing. Nico nods, I assume, since he doesn't reply immediately. “We're over the Styx. Just follow me; there're a few holes.” That makes me feel _wonderful_. But I let my senses fall into his hands; my heart singing, soaring, at the idea that my life is lying in somebody else.

We get over the bridge, and after we pass, I end up crushing a can under my foot. Yes; we're definitely near the junkyard, if I squint through the trees. “We better not be swimming in the goddamn Styx, Nico,” I Hiss.

A low chuckle comes from him; we leisurely stroll. I calm a little – moonlight filtering through the leaves of the trees that line the banks – challenging myself to try and differentiate the flow of the sludge river from leaves. Nico's fingers are cool in mine, the breeze running up my spine and cooling me. The contrast is pleasant on my skin, in my hair. It'd be better if it was Nico's fingers, though. A few crickets chirp as we grin at each other.

He leads me for a little longer, before we pick up into another jog and stop at another set of wrought-iron fences. I see a little shack before us, flanked by trees that also hide the other side of the fence, “What's over there?” Nico glances at me, but otherwise only grins impishly. I watch him grab his lighter, and hold it to a crappy, cheap padlock that locks the small gate just to the right of the shack, behind a tree. We'll have to squeeze to get through, but it's worth it.

The lock melts from the lighter, and clatters to the dirt. I high-five him. My boyfriend saunters through, me quickly following. And – holy shit. It's a public pool. The shack, as I wander around to glance at it, is a supply shed. A high, wooden chair sits at one end of the pool, there's a larger gate made for people to come in and out, and a few lawn chairs scattered around the concrete, “Oh fucking _sweet_ ,” I hiss.

Nico winks at me, setting his bag down on one of the lawn chairs. He toes off his boots, then his socks, stuffing them in his shoes. I walk over to him, taking in the tarp over the pool, and the back-up generator stored against the side of the shack. “Jackpot,” I praise him. My boyfriend shrugs, tugging his jeans off, folding them halfheartedly and letting them rest on the lawn chair. I realize I should be following suit, and take my shoes off.

By the time I start unbuttoning my jeans, he's already shirtless, and by god to I love that look on him. I can see his collarbones, and the vertebrae of his spine; he's beautiful. Slim, slender, meat where it's best, and he's just so...perfect. Long legs and boyish hips, subtle curves to his thighs and his ass is just delicious. Of what I can see through his boxers.

He smirks deviantly, “I know I'm hot, but c'mon, sugar.” I snap my mouth shut, and hurry to strip to my underwear, “Sorry, sorry, babe.” I mutter. Nico runs a hand through his hair.

I dust off my shoulders, and smile a little as he modestly crosses his arms over his chest. “Nice form,” He tells me, flippantly patting the start of ab-definition on my stomach, from all the swimming I used to do. “Keep swimming like that, and you'll be ripped by twenty,” He jokes, laugh echoing through the abandoned area. I stroll over to him, to where he drags his bag to the end of the pool, by the lifeguard's chair.

Then he moves along to grab at the ends of the tarp. I race over to the other side, lifting up the plastic sheet. Together, we move it to the end and fold it back on itself on the ledge, hooking the holes into the hooks that hold it up. We meet in the middle, and he has no issue nuzzling up to me and kissing my neck. I hum purrs its way out of my chest. Nico hip-checks me again – he seems to have fun doing that, I've noticed – and he shuffles over to the generator and presses the on button.

Before he does, I take in the way the moonlight dapples along the curve of his spine, down to the heels of his feet. It's pretty, really pretty -

Aqua-blue light illuminates the vicinity. I turn to the pool, finding lights installed into the bottom of it, and a few more along the sides. I smile to myself, “What else have you got up your sleeve, di Angelo?” He chuckles coily in response, coming over to me and lacing our fingers together, “We'll have to find out, huh? Now c'mon, I wanna spend time with my boyfriend.” His last words are what make me move, coming to sit at the edge of the pool with my legs in the water. It's cold, but that's to be expected, really.

“It's clean,” He tells me. Something else tells me that he's cleaned it recently, planning to take me here. I feel spoiled, and I love it. Nico joins me, wriggling his toes in the water, before kicking lightly at me.

A soft sound comes from me, before I flick some water back at him. Nico bats his eyelashes, yawning a little. He always yawns, he's always tired. No surprise, really. His head thumps on my shoulder, arms coming to wrap around himself, “I don't wanna go,” He whispers. The only reason I hear him is because the breeze carries it for me; otherwise, I wouldn't have heard it. My hand travels to the small of his back, and I nod, “I don't want you to.”

He looks out to the lit pool, smiling, “At least we're on the same page.” I nod again, moving to kiss him sweetly. His lips move against mine easily enough, tasting like coffee he had this morning (It comes to me then that the coffee was the only thing he had today.) My tongue swipes his scab as I pull back. Nico snorts, an amused sound escaping him. “We're always on the same page,” I inform him.

Nodding, he moves his legs back and forth lackadaisically, the water lapping up to his knees and sometimes splashing up onto the ledge. “Hey,” I grab his jaw, turning him to me. He looks at me through hooded eyes, just the sliver of dark iris visible, “It's only a weekend. You've been telling me that since yesterday, right? We have you 'til then, and, we have phones for a reason.” A smile curls my mouth nearing the end of the sentence. I love reiterating his words back at him. A sense of prowess comes with it, from being able to remember one's words and bring them back up later. ~~I think Annabeth made me that way~~.

Nico snorts a little, before kicking the water with enough force that water sprays both of us. Another one of those loud laughs leaves me, grin splitting my face as I blink water from my eyes. My boyfriend is in the pool when my vision clears, nose and eyes above the water. Like a crocodile.

I feel one of his hands come to grab my ankle, giving my leg a tug. Rolling my eyes, never one to say no, I push myself from the ledge. The pool's not deep enough to dive into. I pull my knees to my chest anyways, arms around them to loose myself in the sensation of the water submerging me fully, moving around outside my ears, tugging my hair wildly. I love it, especially the feeling of your body floating back to the surface.

I blink, wiping my face. Nico smirks at me fondly, standing in the pool. I let my feet touch the tiles underneath us, “I like the pool,” I tell him. He nods, punching me a little, “You're a natural swimmer.” I raise an eyebrow, “How do you know that?” He shrugs, examining his nails in that (oddly) sexily unfair way, “Your dad sometimes talked 'bout the shit you got up to, when your mom would talk.” I make an intelligent noise, and move until our toes touch, “Cool.”

The crow-eyed boy shrugs again, hands moving to skim up my sides. I shiver a little; his hands are cold, no matter what, and there's still a pleasurable contrast. His isn't _clammy_ , per say, but...cool, like when you open the fridge and just stand there for a moment. Pleasing. He cocks his head, fingers moving to spread over my chest, just reaching my collarbones. “You having fun there?” I inquire, chuckling.

Nico's eyes flutter when he feels the vibration though my skin.

I've broken him. Unmoving, he simply stands before me, palms planted on my chest. I find myself chuckling again, just at him, and then it quietens to watch his pupils shrink a little – of what I can see of them. “Nico, baby,” I murmur, moving to latch my fingers around his wrists.

He blinks, jolting a little in my hold, “Uh – shit, fuck what?” His eyes zero in on his hands, and he flushes red. “Sorry, uh,” He coughs with embarrassment, “I'll just -” I move his hands to rest on my shoulders, pulling him closer until our mouths slot together clumsily. It's more like _collide_ , but I like to believe there is some finesse within this exchange. My boyfriend hums, sighing through his nose, in what I'm lead to understand is relief. I'm not mad at him. I have no reason to be, but I don't question it. He's always a little everywhere.

His fingers dig into my shoulders a little, pressing our bodies together to get more. His tongue swipes my lip, insistent and eager, and it forces another laugh out of me. Pulling back, he groans a little, “Perrrcy,” He pouts. Sobering, my hands find his waist and squeeze, thumbs nearly meeting over his belly button. (Inny-button.)

“Yeah?” I ask, voice low over the lapping of water against the ledge. I lean against it, him against me. Nico's nose bumps against my jaw, hands hands moving to rest on my upper-arms. I feel his teeth catch on my chin, before he huffs against my damp skin, “Kiss me.”

It's a simple order.

I do it without a hitch.

A soft chirp comes from him, as my arms come to wrap around him, leaning forward a little to feel the slight bruising feeling. I feel Nico shape a smile against me, one of his legs coming between mine to get _closer_. Just, so close, I can feel his hipbones under my fingertips, and the idea that I could probably bruise them is so intoxicating, and I just -

Nico swipes his tongue against my lips again, curious. Who am I to deny him? I let him explore, savoring the way his tongue drags along the roof of my mouth, or how when I start prodding back against him it's just feels _right_ , and like I've done this before. I haven't, never with Annabeth, or Luke. Just small kisses, and not even that.

With Nico, having him shift a little to reach me, when I teasingly pull back? It's bliss. Euphoric, when his nails scrape along my side, thumb catching my nipple a little in the cold air. It forces a choked sound out of my mouth, Nico swallowing it up easily enough. He pulls back, licking his lips. They're red, and as I regain my senses, I taste copper in my mouth. He's busted his lip again; kiss-bruised and a little swollen, from where blood no dribbles a little.

In a bout of spontaneity, I duck towards him and lick it up. It's weird, yeah, but Nico shakes when I pull back, his hands grasping at mine desperately in attempts to ground himself. One look in his eyes, and I see so much adoration in them, the stars swirling dazzlingly, “F-fuck,” He gasps, grinning, “I love you,” He tells me quietly. I match his expression, knocking our heads together, “Yeah? You like that?” Nico nods, still chest to chest, joined together 'til our knees. His arms snake around my neck, my hands resting on his spine.

I feel every ridge under my fingers, and it's breathtaking. I feel high just on this alone, to breathe the same air and taste him on my teeth. I'll never get enough of this.

Eventually, my boyfriend pulls away with a mischievous glimmer in his eyes. I follow him, wading through the pool towards his bag, by the lifeguard chair. He waves his hands around a little, excess water flying. I press myself up against him, chin on his shoulder as I watch him rummage around.

After a while, he just upturns his bag and watches every clatter to the concrete. I catch the _fucking kitchen knife_ he has yet to remove from the bag, and settle it back. Nico thanks me quietly, putting that back in his bag. “Seriously,” I huff, “Why the fuck do you have that?” He shrugs, leaving his cigarettes and lighter to the side, along with his camera and an L-shaped thingy. It has a red button on one end, and a dial with _Polaroid_ across it, but I'm still clueless. He returns the other items back into the bag – flashlight, wallet, porno magazine, a couple packs of gum and another box of cigarettes - “You're like a girl with a handbag, just saying.” I tell him.

Nico doesn't deny it.

“What's this fucking thing?” I poke the plastic L-shape. Nico grabs it, starting to twist the dial, “Polaroid timer.” I squint at it, befuddled. He releases the dial and presses the red button on the 'timer' on its side to show me. A little nub starts poking out from one side of it, as the dial whirs. I scrunch my nose, as the nub retracts again, and then returns. “Ohh,” I finally murmur, “I get it. It keeps pressing the camera's button, right?”

Nico nods, and twists the dial up to what seems to be its maximum – fifteen times, I counted. “We taking some pictures?” I inquire. He nods, and sets the timer up against the camera, of which he settles on the lifeguard's seat, in safe distance from the splash zone.

I smile softly, grabbing his cigarettes and lighting two of them. Who doesn't like a smoke in the pool, am I right? Nico takes one, pecking my cheek, before kicking off against the pool's wall and floating in the center of the pool. He takes a hit, exhaling; the camera flashes, the shudder of the photo being spat out resounding in the area.

I join Nico, resting my head on his stomach, taking a hit from my own cigarette. We smile at each other, huffing laughter. “You look fucking high,” He says, deadpan. I let out a rancorous laugh, and hear the camera flash as my head tips back. My hand traces circles along his shining skin, the blue of the pool lights making everything remind me eerily of that scene from _Life Is Strange_ , and holy shit, do I need to stop thinking of that game.

Nico grins up at me, sedated, satiated. Then, out of the blue, he inquires, “What was living with your mom like?” I shrug, feeling his ribs under my fingers, “Stressful, a lot of the time. Lonely as fuck; she was never really home, and when she was, all she did was drill shit into my head.” His mouth dips at the corners, but he remains silent.

I move to drift around, watching the way his hair writhe in the water with its own mind. Another flash, and I sigh heavily, with a smile, “But, fuck, I dunno. She means well, just tryna give me the safe life, y'know?” Nico hums, shrugging as much as he can. My response is to take a drag from my cigarette, watching the smoke curl into the air. “I just. My mom, she's...difficult, I guess. Or some shit, that's what dad says.” Nico raises an eyebrow, “What do you think?”

My stomach flips a little, as I drift to bump against him, “I...” I examine the cigarette in my hand, the one in his, the way his kiss-bruised lips gleam in the damp. “I don't give a fuck, Nico. I just. She's gone, I'm not seeing her again. I've left that behind me; I don't wanna dig that shit back up, not really.” He nods, smoking his cigarette, “Understandable.” I nod, moving to squeeze his thigh a little.

He stands, after that, and just stands there, standing there, stands. I float beside him, in no hurry to move. Nico blinks down at me, before arching over me to kiss me. I smile; bitterness on our teeth, now, and somewhere, the camera flashes. I grin, moving to stand in the pool, water sloshing around my waist. “Love you, though.” I whisper against his mouth, feeling his hands hover over my waist, lost in my eyes. I love that I have this affect on him, that I can trance him in the way he's done everybody else, and still feel like I haven't lied to gain this power.

Nico steps closer to me, like we'd done earlier, but he nips at my neck instead of continuing to kiss me. I hum contentedly at the action, feeling him mouth softly from the crook of my neck to my Adam's apple. He's not leaving marks, just happy to lick and kiss my skin. It feels nice, I won't deny, but I feel one-sided. Nico blinks up at me, looking beautiful in the moonlight, and I hate how my gut twists so pathetically at the way his eyelashes clump together from the water. I love it all the same.

“What, babe?” I ask, only for him to surge up and lick a long stripe from my chin to my forehead. We laugh together at the ruined intimacy, my grip pressing harder into his skin the way his body moves _closer and closer_ against me. In the back of my mind, there's a flash, but I barely realize it's the camera anymore.

“I'm hopeless,” He mutters, tinging pink in the face with something in his eyes that's like love, but not. Though love is there, too, quiet obviously, just along side something akin but not exactly. I chuckle, “Why are you hopeless?”

He smirks a little, bumping our noses together, “I want you forever, sugar.” Everything stops for the one moment, for the words to sink in, to feel the warmth that blooms inside me, to digest the honesty, the sincerity in his voice. I wrap around him, slamming our mouths together, momentum forcing us to fall back into the water. Moments before we hit the water, I heard the flash of the camera, and then the water engulfs us and underneath it all he's blue and so am I, the lights give him this glow that I love so dearly, and his dark eyes are wide and alive and everything is... _right_.

“Me too,” I gargle out. He snorts, then starts choking, and we surface, coughing up water. I pant heavily, Nico whacking my arm, “I take it back. I don't want an idiot,” He jokes. Once I regain my breath, I hug him close. “Love you, Nico,” I tell him. He nods, holding me closer than he can manage. It's stupid, really.

Two boys in their underwear, trespassing into a public pool on a Thursday, professing their undying love for each other.

* * *

He throws a towel at me, from the supply shack, and I catch it with ease. He comes back with his own, drying himself off and pulling his socks and jeans back on, then his shirt, and drying his hair. I follow his movements, toeing on my shoes as Nico shoulders his bag.

“Thanks, babe,” I say, “That was really fucking fun.” Nico nods, smiling, “I'm glad. I just -” He coughs a little, going to grab the photos and camera as an excuse to not look at me while he blushes, “I wanted some time with you before tomorrow.” A grin cracks my face, my hand coming to run through his messy hair, “I get you.” He nods, and shoves the photos at me whilst he busies himself with turning off the generator. We'd pulled the tarp back over already, and before the lights turned off, it looked like a glowing, blue rectangle on the concrete.

We hold hands as we head back, and I tuck the photos into my pocket, since I can't see them right now. I hand the camera to Nico, of which he stuffs back in his bag with the timer. The moon is hung high, some time around midnight, maybe, and with that realization I come to terms with the fact that it is now Friday. Hours later, my boyfriend will be gone for the weekend, and to me, that's like tearing out my lungs and telling me to breathe.

Nico's hand grips mine with tight anxiety, our walk back silent.

A yawn leaves my mouth, Nico chuckling, “Maybe we stayed out a little too late.” I shake my head, rubbing my eyes, “What? No, no, definitely not. I love -” Another yawn, “Sp-spending time with you, babe.” Nico presses himself into my side, arm around me to keep me steady, “I do too, sugar."

* * *

I'm falling asleep when I climb through my window, turning to wave to Nico as he shuts his own. He blows me a kiss, before leaving to turn his light on. I, however, empty my pockets and turn on my lamp, trying to memorize them before I sleep.

A few of them were just us being stupid, after the first few, and I love them. A few others were of us kissing, like we've done excessively tonight, other with just him, others with just me. But most of them had the pair of us together, in the pool. I hug the photos to my chest, sighing contentedly. I love him, pathetically, gratuitously. I rummage in my nightstand's drawer for a wad of blutack, stumbling over to my closet and opening the door. The mirror throws a tired, satisfied boy at me, with bags under his eyes and a lovesick smile on his face. I start tacking up the photos around the mirror, brushing my fingers on the one with me and Nico making out. That was good, I can't help but snicker.

Who knew Nico was such a good kisser?

It just means he was tailored for me; we were meant to be together. That's what my sleepy brain tells me, as I stumble back to my bed and faceplant into it. I turn onto my back, toeing off my shoes and socks, wriggling out of my jeans. My underwear are still sort of damp, sticking to me, but I don't care too much.

I kick around until I have the comforter over my frame, and my head hits the pillow -

A knock comes through the door, “Percy?” My father yawns. I quickly turn off my lamp, calling, “Yeah?” He opens the door, looking disgruntled more so than like he'd just been woken up. Poseidon comes in,and sits on my bed, “Where were you? You didn't answer your phone.” I wince, “Uh – sorry, I left it here.” I point to it on my nighstand. Poseidon chuckles, nodding, moving to pat my shoulder, “Okay.”

“I, huh,” I clear my throat a little, “I was with Nico at the beach,” I lie. I don't want my dad to think bad of me for trespassing. Poseidon nods again, scratching his nose, “Okay. You're still going to school, even if you're sick, champ.” I laugh a little, nodding, “Of course.” He blinks widely, “I've never heard you laugh like that before.”

My face heats up a little, but I shrug, “I don't laugh a lot. Just chuckle, really.” Poseidon lets out his own laugh, uncannily similar to my own, and he stops short with the realization. Then he sighs heavily, yawning, “Now you know where you get it, kiddo.” I nod, smiling.

He scratches his head, “You made up your mind about the aquarium yet?” Oh shit, I completely forgot about that. Unthinking, I nod, “Yeah; I – I'd like to go with you guys, on Saturday.” My dad nods, again, we both seem to do it a lot, “Okay. I'll tell Hades in the morning – ahem, well, later.” He amends, chuckling softly. I chuckle with him, “Didn't know it was that time already.”

Of course I did. I could feel the horror dawn on me as the clock struck twelve.

Poseidon yawns again, rubbing his eyes, “What did you get up to today, Percy? We don't talk about that a lot.” Shrugging, I sit up, “Not much. Hung around with the guys 'til lunch, then me and Nico bounced.” I don't tell him that Lou and Cecil dropped him on his head in the parking lot, or how _pissed_ he'd been that nobody would get over it. “Went and hung around with Reyna and Jason, too, after school. Went to the park,” I tell him. Not that part where Jason was going through Nico's homework, or how they ridiculed him as he took a phone call that worsened his mood. I don't tell him about how Nico was so drained, utterly _defeated_ when he returned to the table.

“Did some other stuff, too, I guess.” Like listening to Nico vent about his dad, and feeling powerless in how to soothe him, because really, I'm useless trash that shouldn't be reminiscing the _would've's, should've's, could've's,_ and _what ifs_ of the day. “Like what?” Poseidon asks gently. I shrug, scratching my nose, “Walked around town, bought some stuff.” Swiped some stuff of little importance from that shop Dakota never closes up or opens the next day on time.

I don't tell him that.

I don't tell him how Nico refused to speak for those few minutes he took a bottle of Brandy from the back of the shop and just stuffed it in his backpack, not actually drinking it. And I don't tell him that no matter how much persuading, Nico didn't give me the bottle, just said that it was for his dad, and that was that.

“Got a magazine and cut out the faces of the ladies in there and stuck them on Hazel's dolls for her,” Because that's what she likes – real faces, doesn't matter where they're from, as long as it's got a face. Poseidon chuckles at that, oblivious to the fact I drew a pair of double-d sized breasts on one of the ladies in the magazine and drew a dick at her mouth.

I feel dirty.

Like, dirt, on me, grimy and soiled.

My father chuckles, ruffling my hair, “So, productive day, then?” I nod, quiet. He notices this, and furrows his eyebrows, “Is there something you need to _talk_ to me about, son?” I purse my lips, shrugging. My hand tangles itself in my comforter, and I refuse to meet my dad's eyes.

His hand rests on my knee, “Percy -”

“I don't want him to leave, dad,” I gasp. This is affecting me more than it should. It's ridiculous. Poseidon is silent, before he moves to hug me to him, “Who don't you want to leave, Percy?” I hug him, hiding my face in his shoulder, “Nico – Nico, I don't want him t-to go, dad! C-Cus, cus,” I sigh heavily, it all coming to hit me like a truck. I've been ignoring it, but now that I'm having to think it over and have it presented to me raw, I hate it.

He can't go.

He just can't.

My father rubs soothing circles into my back, shushing me gently, “Percy, Nico will be back -” I shake my head, “Not soon enough, it's an _entire weekend,_ dad! He'll be gone for days!”

A soft chuckle comes from the man above me, and I don't understand how he can just easily laugh it off, like he just did, so I give him this frenzied, incredulous stare. He smiles down at me, “You sound like me when I was younger,” He starts, petting my hair away from my face. Sobering, he cocks his head, “I think you might have slight separation anxiety, buddy.”

I blink, the words not sinking in. I just want Nico here, I want him to stay, and it's not fair. My dad gently presses me back, to lay on my bed, and sits beside me, “You have all of tomorrow to say goodbye, Percy,” He tells me. He's not wrong.

“And tomorrow, he'll be with you, and you'll have _hours_ to say what you need to, okay?” I shake my head, “B-But then he'll be _gone_ , dad, he'll _leave_ , and I won't see him, and -” I don't know why my breathing's labored, or how I've got my face in my hands.

Poseidon sighs a little, and he runs fingers through my hair, “Percy,” He chuckles softly, “You have his number, right? You can always call him.” I sigh heavily, “It wont be the same,” I groan. My dad pats my shoulder.

“What's got you so worried about him leaving, Percy?” He inquires. I shrug, hands wiping down my face as I look up at him, “I just.” Flail my hands is what I do, waving them around wordlessly. “He's what helps me through this, dad,” I confess.

“He just...he's glue, basically. Everybody gets a-along when he's there, and everything's f-fine, and -” I choke a little, clearing my throat, “Everything's weird when he's not there. And nobody wants to be there, and I -” I'll be alone. Again. “I don't know what I'll do.”

I don't like the look he gives me; pitying, sympathetic. So I clear my throat, “I – I said I'd look after e-everyone while he's gone, y-y'know, so.” He nods, hand squeezing my knee. I sit up, rubbing my eyes, “I...I just. He means a lot to me,” I admit, in a whisper.

My hand comes to wipe my eyes, that I find watery with tears. Poseidon cocks his head, “Do you love Nico, Percy?” He inquires. I glance at him. He's got me like the back of his hand. I nod, “Y-Yeah,” I say, because there's no use in lying, “Very much.”

He smiles, but falls serious again, “Does he know?” I nod. “To what extent, Percy? Does he _really_ know you love him?” I blink, the words settling like a layer of my skin. “I -” Huh. “No,” I decide, because, no. Nico probably doesn't, knowing him.

~~He probably sees this as me going through a phase due to his lack of self worth~~.

Poseidon pats my head, and sighs a little, “Make sure he knows, Percy.” Something heavy is laced into his words, but I don't understand why, so I nod. But then I repeat, miserable, “I don't want him to go, dad.”

He nods, smiling again, “Percy, honestly, you're a lovesick fool.” I nod, smiling a little, “I know. He tells me that all the time.” He squeezes my knee again, “With good right, Percy, with good right.”

I sniffle a little, pulling my knees to my chest, “Do you think he loves me too?” Because, I want to know what he thinks. I know Nico loves me; the way he says it, the way he looks at me are things you _can't fake_. But, out of curiosity, I ask.

Poseidon is silent, before a smile tugs his mouth, “I know he does, Percy. Have you seen the way that boy stares at you? It's like you hung the moon in the sky.” _Like I hung him in the sky_. I nod, smiling, “It's cute.”

My dad, standing, says, “Just remember that you have many ways to contact him, Percy, and while it wont be the same, days go by fast.” Don't I know that. “I'll see you in the morning, kiddo. Get some rest.” He closes the door behind him.

Falling back onto my pillows, I stare up at the ceiling.

Then I stand, and shuffle to my window. Nico's light is still on, and he's moving around and grabbing items, throwing them at a bag on his bed. He's packing, I realize. Or, starting to. I don't think he'll properly pack until tomorrow.

Sighing, I turn back to my bed, looking cold and alone. I get back, lie on my back, and sigh again. I tug the comforter up to my waist, arms over it. I try counting how many times I've smiled today, how many times I've laughed. I quickly fall asleep.

Tomorrow will be one hell of a day, I'll tell you now.


	19. Personally, I Feel My Lungs Giving Way

_He smiled in defeat with unconquerable eyes._

\- Atticus

*

**CHAPTER NINETEEN**

Morning light nears and I dread the hours that are soon to follow. I'm no longer in my element, I'm no longer at peace with the idea of him leaving. The idea has my stomach twisting; it's been doing that a lot lately.

Sunrise is what remains of moonset, and with that, is gone the wonder and extraordinary adoration that glittered in his eyes like stars. There's a vacant space where the exhilaration was; a void, if you will.

He isn't the diaphanous beauty I'd been held enraptures by those hours in the night, no. He's back to – while also as beautiful as the last form, as always – the wolf and the crow.

I grab his hand, skin now hardened to disable me from touching him somewhere delicate. A sigh leaves me, but I love him, and when he kisses me I find myself not minding too much.

“I'll be gone,” He reminds me, “Don't let her replace me.” ~~Bianca~~.

* * *

I wake to Nico prowling into my room. Keeping my breathing even, I watch him busy around quietly. He packs my bag for me; textbooks, homework on my desk, ectetera. Then he looks in my closet, pulling out an outfit for me to wear today. A gray tank-top that had blue-green waves crashing down on it, navy jeans that are threadbare at the knees with a shark embroidered into one of the back pockets, and the leather jacket I got. He grabs my blue sneakers, setting them by my desk chair, clothes folded on top with the jacket draped along the backrest.

It's considerate, cute, the way he's here on the day he should be getting spoiled, helping me ahead of time. Though I will admit, it's a nice view. He's wearing black skinny jeans ~~that hug his ass wonderfully~~ and an Anarchy shirt. I hold in my laughter, to enjoy the view of Nico bent over to rummage in my little box of accessories in the closet.

The way he unfolds himself, standing straightly again, it's just mesmerizing. How his spine unfurls so smoothly, and as he tugs the hem of his shirt back down, it's lovely to see the mild definition of his shoulder blades through the fabric. Nico turns, running a hand through his hair. I finally see his face, satisfied that his mouth is still bruised a little from last night. His dark eyes flicker to me, widening a little at the revelation that I've been watching him for the past five minutes.

He smiles softly at me, jaw tense despite the gentleness of his exterior. Nico walks over to me, finding one of my hands and just holding it, repeatedly brushing his thumb over my knuckles. “Morning,” I croak, since he still hasn't said anything yet. My boyfriend hums, sighing a little, “Morning, sugar.” I sit up a little, planning on stretching, but instead find myself engulfing him in my arms.

Chuckling softly, he curls up a little more to get his arms around my neck, kissing my cheek, “C'mon, I got your clothes on the desk. We gotta leave soon.” I sigh mournfully as he pulls away, shouldering his backpack left on the windowsill. He raises an eyebrow, smirking, “What? Percy, c'mon. Friday morning, last day of the week. After this, we -” He clears his throat, “You'll have all weekend to unwind.” My heart pangs a little as I sit up some more, turning until me feet meet the carpet.

Nico hums a little, picking loose strands from his jeans, “I'm thinking we go get breakfast at McDonald's or something,” He starts, moving to drum his fingers on the desk. I finally get up, pulling off my shirt and putting on the new one, and tugging on the jeans. I hum, nodding, ignoring the whole idea of Nico being gone by sundown. My first sunset without him, and it's already a nightmare. “Then go hand in homework an' shit,” He's saying now, gesturing to the papers in my bag. I nod, humming, not really remembering the homework being set.

I grab my jacket, shrugging it on, glancing at Nico as he adjusts his own jacket – his regular black leather one with the patch on the arm. “After that?” I ask. He shrugs, “We'll wing it. See what gets fancied or some shit.” So it was one of those days. I smirk at the distracted look in his eyes, “Goin' soft? Like Octavian said?” I don't know why I said that; but it got him into action, into the boy I met before. He tuts, rolling his eyes, “You don't know soft 'til you see your fuckin' mirror, Jackson.”

I tie up my laces, before shouldering my bag, “Sure, di Angelo. Haul ass 'fore I chuck you out the window.” I only just realize he's painted his nails black with very precise yellow circles. I wonder how long they've been like that, and if so, it makes a lot more sense why he's been looking at his nails so much. “When'd you get your nails done, girly?” I tease, nipping his earlobe, grabbing my phone.

He flips me off with one of his carefully manicured fingers (good nails, would probably leave scratches on my back to last me days,) “Hazel did 'em for me. Why, you like?” I laugh loudly, kissing his middle finger before grabbing his wrist and leading him to the bedroom door, “I think I like them a lil' too fucking much.” I inform him, ignoring the queering expression he shoots me as we head downstairs.

I dip into the kitchen, finding my dad there like every morning, making Tyson's breakfast. “Morning guys,” Poseidon greets, glancing at us before dishing egg onto toast. He looks at us again, more thoroughly this time, “What's got you two all punk'd up?” Nico snickers a little at his phrasing, but I just strike a pose and thank him for noticing. “We're going to Mc D's.” Nico finally explains, to which my dad – being awesome – nods and states, “Ah; makes sense. Just gotta look your scariest for McDonald's.”

Before we leave, I hug him – to his surprise, since he never sees me in the mornings. “I'll see you after school, right? Both of you, so we can say goo -” I nod hurriedly, Nico chuckling a little forcefully, “Yeah, we'll back back 'round five, 'Seidon.” He catches on quickly enough, and winks, “See you then, guys. Have fun. TGI Friday, said a wise woman.”

Tyson giggles as he squeezes past us, “Katy Perry!” Nico ruffles his hair, giving him ironic finger guns before turning tail and making his way for the door. I wave to my brother and father, before shutting the door behind us. “So,” I grin, “Mc D's, huh?” Nico nods, opening his mouth -

“Nico! C'mere! I gotta thingy!” Hazel waves from the living-room window, a blur of black being waved in her hand. I share a meaningful look with my boyfriend, because Hazel's just awesome and adorable. We stroll across the road, looking a little out of place in the red sun that bathes us before we step into the shadow of Nico's house.

He smiles earnestly, holding out his hands to grab whatever she was waving – a hat. A...flat hat? With a wide brim, sorta. Nico snorted when he saw it, taking it from her graciously, “Thanks, sorellina.” She grinned, clearly proud, “It's one of those wide-brim catarzi hats! All those noo-goth people were wearing them at the college across the street from school.” It had a black strip around it, with a pale-yellow skull acting as a buckle. It was cute. “Cindy from the college gave it to me, 'cus she got a new one!”

Nico nods, humming a little, “Cindy Leins?” Hazel nods. He angles it on his head – the hat, that is – and smirks at me, “How'm I looking, Shark Bait?” It takes me a moment to get my words together. I love it, and garble something along those lines. Hazel giggles, and pull another item from the couch, “And this is for you! It came in the mail,” Hazel said.

Nico furrows his eyebrows, taking the item. My eyes are still glued to his wide-brimmed hat, how his hair curls out from beneath it, stray locks coming to rest just below his cheekbones. I blink, looking down at what Hazel gave me. My boyfriend turns it over – a pair of bracelets, so I guess it's _them_ , actually. “They're nice, but who sent them, Haze?” She tugs at her hair, “Uh,” Her golden eyes roll to the top of her head, “Bi – Biaaaanca... I think. That's what the package said it was from. Is that a state someplace, Nico?”

My boyfriend wordlessly hands me the bracelets, looking like he got burnt just from holding them. They're leather cuffs, with a few metal-lined holds in them. I like them, but I feel bad wearing them if they're from...Bianca...for Nico, originally. “No, Haze,” Nico sighs, hand down his face, “ _Bianca is not a state._ She's – uh. A friend.”

He composes himself, pecking her forehead, “I'll see you after school, yeah?” She frown at the inevitability of him returning home tonight, but nods, “Yeah. See you guys!” I wave to Hazel before turning back to Nico, watching him mouth numbers until he stops at ten. “Shit.” He states blatantly, hands in his pockets. “Well, she got me some sick fucking cuffs,” I hold up my hands, giving him finger guns. He smirks at me, “Sick as in fucking nauseating, you mean.”

I gasp, batting my eyes wide, “How dare you.” He bumps our shoulders, chuckling, “I dare. But,” He leans in close as we walk, breath against my ear, “You love me.” I do. I really do. In response, I reach around and squeeze his ass, pulling him to walk tucked against me, my hand moving to wrestle into his jacket's pocket and lace our fingers together. He hip-checks me in retaliation, and smirks through the blush on his face.

“I do, Ghost King. Feel lucky you are the host of my affections.”

And in those few moments that our facades will fall, leaving only us and the sunrise, Nico's eyelids drop, his smirk falling, “Trust me; I feel more than fucking _honored_.” He kisses me, quickly, before his hand comes to rest on my waist, jaw on my shoulder.

I smirk at him, “C'mon, babe, McDonald's awaits.”

* * *

He munches on his fruit and maple oatmeal leisurely, knees up to his chest. I sip my cola, peering down at him. Or rather, his wide-brimmed hat. I take it gingerly from his head, much to his chagrin and protest, and settle it on my own head, “I want to see you, Nico,” I tell him. He chuckles, and pushes a chunk of McMuffin to my mouth. I snort, accidentally inhaling it. I choke, and swallow them roughly, “Ouch.” He then pushes my drink into my hands, “Sorry.”

I nudge him, taking another sip of my cola before ducking down to kiss where his neck meets his jaw, “S'fine, babe. I was trying to eat your fingers.” He hums, raising an eyebrow, “Kinky as fuck, sugar.”

Snorting again, I nip his ear, “Shut it.” Simple orders. I watch him close his mouth obediently, looking away from me. I smirk, biting into my muffin. He kicks me lightly under the table, “You don't get to use that on my last day here, asshat.” My smile strains a little, but I roll my eyes and nod, “Sure I do. You're my fucking boyfriend, if I want to exploit that on the last day I get to see your sexy ass, then I can.”

He softens, just for a moment, cocking his head. I watch him mull it over, before he hums and takes another bite from his oatmeal. My arm remains around him, his hat on my head. The little restaurant is quiet, considering it's seven in the morning, but I love it. I can freely kiss him and talk to him, tease him, and have nobody judge me besides the employee at the counter who's not allowed to say anything unless they want to loose their job. Nico sighs a little, scraping oatmeal and fruit from the bottom of his carton, before he stabs his plastic spoon against it uselessly.

I know why he's sad. We don't touch the topic, alluding ourselves that today was just a regular day. “Would you do something for me?” He inquires. I nod, “Like what?” He scratches his nose, looking ashen, as he finally breaches the topic, “Look after Hazel. Just – make sure she's okay, or something.” My heart begins to ache, but I nod; anything for him, and if it's something as simple as that, then so be it. “She gets lonely when I leave, and since -” He cuts himself off, picking at the leather cuffs on my wrists. _Since Bianca is coming home soon, it'll be worse_. He still wants to pretend she's not returning, and that's fine by me.

I nod, ruffling his hair, “Yeah, yeah, totally, Nico. That's fine.” I scratch my nose, and sigh a little, “We're meant to be going to the aquarium on Saturday,” I tell him, and it's easy to phrase it that way, because _we're_ could imply that he's with me, “So, I'll look out for her then a little more.” Nico nods, smiling softly at me. Anything for his lovely smiles.

Looking back to my half-eaten muffin he bought me, I pick at it a little bit, “You want it?” He shrugs, “Split it?” Nodding, I break it apart for both of us. We clear up the wrappers and chuck them in the trash on the way out. “Where to now, o' weary wise traveller?” He snorts, whacking me a little, “School, believe it or not.” I nod, drumming my fingers on the strap of my backpack, “Sounds good. You gon' -” I was gonna ask if he's saying goodbye to anybody. I bite my tongue, and redirect my sentence, “Stay 'til lunch or nah?”

He snorts distastefully, “Fuck no. Just gonna pull a couple strings to pick up your grades.” I blink, squinting at him, “What?” My boyfriend grabs my hand, then swipes his wide-brimmed hat and settles it back on his wild hair, “I saw a few snippets of your file a day ago or some shit; couple overdue homeworks handed in and you'll be spotless.”

Blinking, “Is that what you put in my bag? You've done homework for me?” Nico shrugs bashfully, nodding, not looking at me. I feel my heart swell, “You hate writing -”

“It's whatever.”

“And reading.”

“Shark Bait, really -”

“You're doing this all for me -”

“If you didn't get that immediately, yeah -”

“Holy shit.”

“Meh. S'not much, sugar.”

“It's more than enough, baby.”

He blushes pink at my last statement, and I stop is in the middle of the sidewalk. Nico blinks up at me, befuddled, until I hold his face in my hands and kiss him tenderly. I know his mouth is still sore from our previous escapades, so I'm sure to be careful.

Chuckling a little, he pulls back, brushing my cheek, “Chill, Shark Bait. Any more and you'll be eating my fucking face.” (“Stop, Percy. It's too sore right now.”) I back away, linking our pinkies together, “You're more than I deserve,” I mutter, in a bout of sappiness that makes his nose crinkle with his cringe, “Sap.” I nod, running a hand through my hair, “Your sap.”

He scoffs at that, swinging our hands back and forth, “Unfortunately.” I act betrayed, hand on my chest, “And here I thought you loved me.” Nico smirks, “I never said I didn't.” He's right. Like always.

* * *

The first to reach is actually Harris, Nico's Freshman friend, when we wander to the parking lot behind the school. He's this bouncing ball of excitement, happy to see Nico, and I watch how it stumps my boyfriend a little to get this much cordial admiration from somebody who's meant to see him as a rival to be better than. A milestone to get over, something to look back at and be confident when they think _I'm better than that._

But, no, Harris is skipping along beside us, talking animatedly about how he's getting the top of the leader board in the after school tennis thing. Not that I have a problem with him; kid had charisma. His red hair bounces as we walk, grin on his face as he rattles on. Harris is pretty cool, a chill kid – no wonder Nico gets along with him.

Nico walks between us, one hand occupied by his cigarette, the other one adjusting his hat a little. Harris pauses, both of us glancing to him. His blue eyes are giving us worried looks, “Are you two okay? You looked sorta...angry, last time I saw you.” I hum, running a hand through my hair as Nico shrugs, “S'all good now, kid. Just had a little hiccup.” _Little hiccup._ Like I hadn't been chewing his heart and spitting it in his face. I nod, agreeing.

Harris worries at his lip a little, before nodding, “Oh. Okay; as long as you're okay.” Cute kid. Nico pats his unruly hair, smirking, “Only thing wrong is my lack of manners, kid.” I bump his shoulder, “And my lack of braincells.” We grin at each other, winking.

The Freshman hums, but eventually forgets about it, “Well, okay. Have you seen the others yet?” Nico glances up from his nails, taking a hit from his cigarette, “Nah. They've been avoiding me.” Oh god, here we go. Harris cocks his head, “Why?” Nico shrugs, “I'm leaving this weekend.” It's forced out of his mouth, jaw tensing after he says it. I squeeze his shoulder, feeling the familiar sensation of the world shattering around me.

The kid's face falls drastically, “What? Like – leaving school?” Shaking his head, my boyfriend ruffles the boy's hair, “Nah. Just out of state for the weekend.” That soothes him a little, but he looks ultimately upset with this news. “More like a year,” I mutter moodily.

Nico bumps our hands together, “Drama queen.”

Harris quickly gets the idea – dropping the topic. I'm grateful. Nico leans against me a little, hand around my wist; Harris wont see it, and others who do won't question it. We continue strolling around, until we end up on the steps to the school. Harris sits down, before leaning against the handrail like Nico's doing. It's cute – Nico's got himself a fanboy. I come to rest on the handrail behind him, resting my chin on his shoulder as I wrap my arms around him from behind. Harris gives us another confused look, but I don't mind.

“Have you guys got homework?” He asks. Weird question, “Yeah. Why?” He shrugs, kicking pebbles, “A friend of mine said you don't get homework in Junior Year.” My boyfriend snorts, flicking ash from h is cigarette, “They're wrong. You get homework 'til you leave any form of education – college, uni. You get it.” Harris hums, and hops to sit on the railing, “What about gym? Do you guys still do gym?” Nico snorts, “ _We_ don't, but yeah. You do everything we do 'til you leave.” Harris nods.

Then he stares at Nico's black and yellow nails, frowning, “Why are your nails painted? Isn't that for girls?” My boyfriend, surprisingly far more patient than I'd have expected, shakes his head, “Doesn't just have to be girls. Boy can do their nails, too. My lil' sis, she did them.” He smiles softly, flexing his fingers and watching his nails shine in the sun.

I run my fingers over his, chuckling, “Did a good job, too.” Hazel is a little miracle. I want her. She's another specimen I must add to my pokémon collection, her pokéball beside Nico's on my shelf. That was weird, I take it back.

Harris cocks his head, “Is your little sister called Hazel? Hazel Levesque?” Nico nods, taking another smoke. His blue eyes light up, “OH! I know her; my brother's friends with her.” Nico smiles a little, nodding, “Cool.” Harris grins, “She talks about you a lot, y'know.” Again, Nico nods, “Cool.” I move my head, to rest on the shoulder furthest away from Harris, and whisper in his ear, “Talks a lot, huh?” My boyfriend smirks, nodding. Harris continues to talk, whilst I pepper the side of my boyfriend's face with kisses.

Quietly, I mutter, “I miss you.” He raises an eyebrow, “You're right here, beside me, Percy.” I shrug, “i'm missing you now so the blow will be less later.” His hand finds mine, squeezing it, “Only a phone call away,” He reminds me. I sigh, nodding, “A phone call isn't the same.” He meets my eyes, “Only two days, Percy. Relax.” I nod, kissing his cheek once more before Harris gains our attention again.

* * *

With Fitzgerald's _The Great Gatsby_ on my desk and scarce notes under my pencil, I rest my head on the windowsill. Will beside me, Cecil behind him. Lou had Chemistry with Nico in the labs. I'll have psychology with Nico and Cecil next, as I'm meant to have on Fridays. I just realized I've never had psychology, since I wasn't here last week to have it; me and the gang bounced after first period. Fuck.

Will glances at me, smiling. I smirk back, before he whispers, “Shark Bait, do me kindness?” I raise an eyebrow, “What's up, Sunshine?” He smiles at me, leaning over the distance, “Keep Nico distracted t'day for us.” No problem. I do a pretty good job of that anyways. I nod, “What for?” The blond grins cheerily, cheekily, before Cecil slurs, “We gon' plan goodbyes.” Oh.

I try not to let my smile falter. Chuckling, I nod, “That's cool. I can only keep him busy 'til five – dad wants us home by then.” Will nods, “That's fine. Just keep him busy – in school, outta school, I don't care. Don't let him home 'til the latest you can, 'kay?” I nod, “Yeah, no problem dude.” Sounds like they're planning him a surprise party.

Both boys smile gratefully at me, “Thanks Percy,” Will says. I raise an eyebrow, “What for?” Cecil moves his chair to sit between the empty desk behind me and his own, to be closer to us, “'Cus you've fixed a lot of shit for us.” I furrow my eyebrows, “I've fixed nothing -”

Will nods, still smiling, “Nico.” That's all he needed to say, and I fall quiet. I keep hearing all those stories – the **Bianca Episode** before I came. I still don't know what happened. I don't want to anymore. So instead of revoking or refuting, I just nod, scratching my cheek. But still, I ask, “How?”

Cecil's hair bounces as he cocks his head, “What'dya mean _how?_ ” Will chuckles, shushing him kindly, “He wasn't here 'fore it happened, was he?” Cecil's eyes widen, and he nods with understanding. Will turns back to me, “Nico got...destructive, after, uh -” I fill it in for him, “Bianca called. His dad told me. She's meant to be coming home soon.” The boys look pale after I say it, but Will continues, “Yeah. Started doin' bad shit to – to himself. Dangerous, y'know?”

My eyes widen, and my voice drops, “What...like...like cutting?” Cecil shakes his head wildly, and I'm relieved. I'm a bad boyfriend if that's what it was, and I hadn't noticed it – I've seen him stripped to his underwear on multiple occasion, after all. Will fiddles with his shirt, “He stopped eatin'. Couldn't stomach anythin', it jus' came back up. An', huh,” He scratches his hair, “Wasn't carin' if he hurt himself -” His cut up fingers from Hazel's origami.

I nod, clearing my throat, “I get it.” The boys exhaled heavily, nodding, “But yeah,” Cecil hums, “Thanks Shark Bait.” I smile, shaking my head, “I haven't done anything.” Will nodded, “You've been here. That's enough to fix anybody, Percy.” I feel my face heat up, and I smile bashfully. “Thanks guys.” They chuckle, and Will turns back to his work, whilst Cecil leans back in his chair, chewing gum.

Turning to look out the door's window, I find Nico walking past. He looks upset. My hand shoots into the air, startling the teacher, “Uh, Mr Jackson?” I'm already standing, “I'm forgot that my dad's picking me up for an appointment.” She glances at the clock, “What is this appointment, Mr Jackson? And why haven't I received a note?” I watch Will hurriedly scrawl an excuse for me, so I stall, feeling around in my pockets, “It...it's meant to be in my pockets.” Will drops the note onto the floor. I pick it up, false surprise on my face, “There it is.” I grab my bag, and walk to her. She scims over it, and I hope to god it's convincing, “You have a dental appointment, correct?” I nod. “Chipped tooth.” She mutters, before glancing at the time. I can just make out the numbers _9:30._ It's 09:45 now.

She nods, and lets me leave. I jog out the door, and wander in the direction Nico went. Down the stairs, take a left. I hear his boots echo, and follow them. They stop as I skid around a corner; he's at a vending machine nearer to the cafeteria, pressing a certain arrangement of buttons. The door props open, and I blink.

Casually, I stroll towards him, hand in my hair to hide how I stumbled on the way to catch up with him. “Gotta show me that code at some point, babe.” I comment. Nico isn't startled by my sudden presence, if his smirk is anything to go by, “Maybe one of these days, sugar.” He grabs a can of cola, and gestures for me to get something. I grab a water bottle. Rolling his eyes at me, “Will's got you all healthy-nut, huh?” I shrug, watching him swipe a candy bar. Kitkat.

I take a bag of chips before he closes the door again. “Where were you headed? Saw you outside the door. He shrugs, adjusting his bag, “I don't know. I've just had enough to today, sugar.” I smile, hand coming to rest on his waist as we walk, “Okay. How about Hazel's school? Isn't it, like, recess for them right now?” Nico nods, “Will be by the time we get there.” And that's how we decide to go meet Hazel.

Once we step out of the school grounds, Nico pulls out his phone and asks if there's a specific song I wanted on. When I say no, he plays shuffle mode. The familiar intro of _Let's Dance To Joy Division_ starts playing, and I chuckle softly. “I'm back in Liverpool, and everything seems the same,” I sing, watching Nico's smile grow as we stroll through the streets. “But I worked something out last night that changed this little boy's brain,” Nico joins in, and we laugh stupidly, enjoying the sun. It's like we're not being split for seventy-two hours soon. So much can happen within that time apart, and I fear every second of it.

Nico seems okay, though. His cool hand in mine, smile on his face, relaxed with his definite, purposeful gait. He catches me staring, and blinks, “Something on my face or some shit?” I shake my head, trying to read what's in his eyes, “Are you okay?” I whisper. Will's story has me rattled, I think, and I just. My boyfriend's eyes widen, and he swallows, silent. “W...What do you mean?” He isn't answering my question.

We walk, in the empty streets, the sky pastel pink today, with the deep lavender cloud soft rain coming in from the east. I shrug, squeezing his hand, pulling him close, “Y'know; _are you okay?_ ” He avoids my eyes, shoulders hunched, “Yeah.”

I frown, letting him lead me around a corner, in what I assume is the direction of Hazel's school. “Will's been talking to you 'bout the phone call, huh?” Guilt is like a rock dropping into my gut, and I nod, “I just – I asked, him, he didn't just randomly start telling me or anything -” I don't want to throw Will under the bus. He means well. Nico nods, waving me off a little bit, “Yeah, yeah, I know, Percy.”

Frowning deeper, I prod a little more, “So are you okay or not, Nico?” I need to know. It must show on my face, because he sighs softly, and reaches up to kiss me. “I'm fine, Percy. Seriously.” I'm dubious, but let him nuzzle my jaw, “Stop worrying, sugar. I'm over it.” I squeeze his waist, before sneaking to cop a feel, much to his giggling. It's adorable really; the freckles on his nose are more pronounced when he blushes.

We cross the street, and I watch the little yellow skull-buckle on his hat gleam. “Hazel's got good taste,” I tell him. His wide-brimmed hat is ridiculous, but it works with him, weirdly. He touches his hat a little, smiling in that sweetly fond way he does for Hazel, “She does, huh?” I absently fiddle with the leather cuffs on my wrists, the holes still ringed with the shiny metal. They're cool, I like them. I feel sorta bad that they're from Bianca, though.

I hear children laughing and playing a little further down the street. We walk towards it, and I idly wonder if I'll see Tyson here. I ask my boyfriend this, but he shakes his head, “They have separate playgrounds; Tyson will be in the one around the back of the school. Hazel's in this one,” He points tot he chain-link fence, where the the fifth and fourth graders were running around.

We keep walking until we reach a cluster of birch trees on a small patch of green. Hazel sits there with a chunky boy with fuzzy hair, who has a bunch of cards in his hands. Hazel has her box of colored bands and beads, making bracelets or something. I can't see from this angle. “Sorellina,” Nico drawls, leaning against the fencing, fingers through the holes.

She jumps, gasping loudly, “Nico! Frank, look, Nico and Percy are here!” She grins at us, dusting off her shorts and running up to the fence, “Hey guys!” 'Frank', of which I can only presume is her friend, hesitantly comes towards us. Nico waves at him briefly, “Ciao, Frank.” I smile at him, before looking to Hazel. She's stuck her hands through the fence, holding Nico's hands in hers. She frowns, “Aww, you've chipped them.” She brushes her thumb over Nico's pinky finger, pouting at the chipped paint on the nail. He sighs softly, “Hazel, you can repaint them on Monday, yeah?”

She nods, curling her hair around her finger, “Okay. What're you guys here for?” She blinks, grinning, then glances to Frank and glares at Nico, “You better not be here to scare him again, fratello.” She warns. Nico holds up his hands, smirking, “Hey, not today. I've got the scheduled for next week.” His dark eyes turn to Frank, who swallows thickly at the idea.

I kick Nico, “Be nice, you fucking bully.” Nico rolls his eyes, bumping our shoulders, “I'm not a damn bully, okay, I'm just making sure they're not making out behind the school.” I level him with a dry look, because, really. I mutter, “Hypocrite.” under my breath. He bats his eyelashes at me, “I have no idea what the hell you're implying, fucker.”

Hazel huffs, “Do you have to swear so much? You're at a middle school, for goodness sake.” I snort, shoving Nico again, “Yeah, you hear that? No swearing, Ghost King.” He hip-checks me, then trips me up a little, “Hear that you lil' shit? Shut the fuck up.”

We laugh, Hazel rolling her eyes. “What do you waaaant?” She asks. Nico crouches, blowing her raspberries, “I just...wanted to see you.” He mutters, eventually. Hazel giggles, smiling, “Well, you've seen me! Now go back to school, you should be in class right now, silly.” Nico chuckles, ruffling her hair, “I'll see you tonight, yeah?” She nods, smile dropping a little. Nico's little sister reaches into her little box and holds our a woolen-thing.

It's black (duh,) with little blue beads laced into it, and it's really cute. I maybe squeal a little. Nico takes it, and takes out his phone. Oh, it's a phone sock thingy. “That's adorable as fuck.” I state. Hazel gives me this knowing look, waggling her eyebrows. I give her another stern look, mouthing _young lady, behave._ Hazel kicks Nico's leg through the fence, “Shoo, I need to talk with your boyfriend.” Neither of us deny it.

Nico sighs, rolling his eyes, and saunters over to Frank. I don't want to think about what they're talking about. Hazel grabs my shirt collar, pulling me down to her height. She grins cunningly, conniving look in her eyes. Gee, I wonder where she gets it from. She whispers, not threateningly, but softly, “Hurt him and I will cut you.” I remember Nico saying something along those lines. I smile, nodding, “I know Hazel. I don't plan on it, so put your knife back in the kitchen, little lady.” She huffs, then smiles, and kisses my nose, “Be good to my brother, you here?” I nod, “I promise.”

I pull away, and let Nico grab my hand. I wave to them, “We'll see you 'round five, yeah?” Nico assures. Hazel nods, waving to us as we leave the school area. I turn to Nico, and he turns to me. Raising an eyebrow, he asks, “What?” I just smirk, “Your sister is so fucking like you, it's terrifying.” He smirks, “She learned from the best.”

* * *

“Why are we at the park, Percy?” Nico asks me, pulling out a cigarette and lighting it. He takes a hit, looking around to the swings and the rusty slide. I smile at him, “Because I want to show you the fucking unconquerable joy of the swings.” He gives me a fond, tired look, breathing out smoke.

I kiss him afterward, inhaling whatever was left. He blinks at me, raising an eyebrow. I smile at him, tugging him towards the swings, “C'mon, Nico, it's the last day I'll see you; let me have some fun.” He snorts, and sits on one of the swings. I sit on the other one, chains groaning as I push a little bit. “You're a child,” Nico tells me, smiling. I kick off, kicking my legs back and forth, “Don't I know it, baby.”

He takes another smoke, before dropping his cigarette butt onto the ground and squashing it. Then, he starts swinging, begrudgingly. Let me tell you, it's interesting to watch somebody scowl when they swing on a child's play equipment.

Nico starts swinging in sync with me, staring at me with a very serious expression. I meet him with the same one, and we just keep swinging. Then my face starts cracking, and a snicker makes it way out of my mouth. Nico pulls a face, and it's stupid that I laugh as loudly as I do – that loud, booming laugh that I seem to have unlocked last night. Nico cackles with me, “What the fuck are we doing?”

Shaking my head, I shrug. He stops kicking, just letting his swing gradually fall to a stop. I do the same, but start twisting around until my chains are coiled up. Then I let go, legs out all the way, and spin like hell. I kick Nico a few times, but whatever. The laughs he gives out tell me he wasn't intensely hurt.

I stop spinning. Nico's giving me another one of those looks that smile but don't reach his eyes, like he wants what I have but simultaneously is okay to let me have it. I raise an eyebrow, “What's up?” He shakes his head, “Rain.” Just as he says that, I start to feel a few drops fall. I chuckle a little, “Actually, it's going down.” He nods, craning his neck to the sky, closing his eyes. Rain hits his forehead, and as he turns to me, it runs down his nose and drops onto his lips. I wipe the raindrop from his mouth, “Smartass.”

He nips at my fingers as I pull back, “You love me.” I smile, nodding, “I do.” Nico tilts back on his swing, hands on the chains, with his legs in the air as he tips all the way back, until his hair brushes the ground. He drops his legs, spine arching over the seat. I may or may not drool a little, like I may or may not have the tendency of doing. He looks at me from the ground, and maneuvers his foot to kick me. “Huh?” I snap from admiring him.

“Join me.” I do so, falling backwards and chuckling. “Did you hand in those homeworks, by the way?” I inquire. I nod, then shrug, “Uh, I gave a few of them to Will – he's got a few classes with me.” Nico nods, holding onto his hat a little, before deciding to just set it on his backpack, a little ways away. “How long 'til we go back?” I ask. He pulls out his phone, squinting at it, “Still a couple hours. It's not even lunch time yet, Percy.” No, but it feels later, time fleeing from me like water through my fingers.

Speaking of.

I glance back up skyward, the rain feeling heavier in the few minutes that have passed. Nico sits up, his swing jostling a little, “C'mon,” He says, and I grab his hands. He dons his hat once again, backpack on his shoulder, the same for mine. “Where're we going?” I ask. Nico shakes his head, smiling, “You'll find out.”

Blindly, I lace our fingers, and let him lead me away.

* * *

He's so pretty in the rain. His hat is on my head once again, and I get to see how his hair curls and gets frizzy with how wet it is now, and look at how it shines in the bleak, lilac light. His hand in mine, joined at the hips, steps in sync uncannily and grins big enough to rival the Cheshire Cat's. I love him dearly.

I don't care where we're going; I think he's forgotten, since he seems to be walking in random directions to nowhere now. We walk through puddles and splash gregariously, soaking our shoes, our jeans, whatever reaches the hems of our shirts. Nico's eyelashes are clumped, nose rosy, along with his cheeks. He's still got that wicked bruise on his cheek, the scab on his jaw, the other one on the apple of his cheekbone, the black eye that reminds me of star clusters you see in Elementary science class, when it was all about seeing the stars and trying to remember the constellations.

Water rolls off of his jacket, the leather reflective of anything damp. His _Anarchy_ shirt is drenched, now, and so is my tank-top, but all is right with the world and I'm lost in the conundrum of nebulous void of his eyes, and how they were practically made from the vacuum of space, and logically, it would make sense considering they're notorious for trying to consume the sun whilst give the sky more stars.

He smiles, and it's like shards of glass.

Nico brushing wet hair from his forehead, squeezing my hand like a lifeline. I don't think he realizes he's doing it. I hold his hand equally as hard, so much that my arm tenses, and I just. He's perfect. “You're perfect,” I mutter. Nico blinks, and shakes his his head, smiling self deprecatingly, “No, I – no...I'm not.”

I nod, but as he starts to protest further, I say, “Nico, be quiet.” His mouth snaps shut, his face blooms red. I don't smile, but I duck down and turn his face towards me, and kiss him. I nip his ear as I whisper, “ _Perfect._ ” He sighs, shivering a little – from the rain or from my voice, I don't know, maybe both.

We turn a corner, and it turns out to be the street to school. I share a look with Nico, but he just walks to a bench and sits himself down. His hand grips my jacket, tugging me to sit beside him. Then he leans against me, resting his head on my shoulder, “I love you. You're too good for me.” I shake my head, arm around him with my hand on his arm, “No, baby,” I move to catch his eyes, “You got it the wrong way 'round, you.” he smiles softly.

My heart bursts to life with stars and moons.

* * *

Hours blur by, and I hate myself for not remembering most of it. So now, sun making its way down, the rain having stopped about half an hour ago. Everything looks glazed, the sun a tangerine orange in a mess of mottled gold and scarlet.

We walk back to our neighborhood, the time nearing quarter-to five now. We're barely connected by our pinkies now, considering how close we are to home. “You nervous?” I ask, my heart stammering sluggishly in my chest. Nico shrugs, mouth tight, “Not as much as I should be.” I smile at him, adjusting his wide-brimmed hat for him, fingers dragging down his nose a little.

He smiles softly, bringing up my hand and kissing my knuckles clumsily. We stop just short of our houses, in the center of the road. He get son his tip toes, cradling my face in his hands. Gently, he presses out foreheads together, and brushes out mouths together. Then he pulls back, but I want more, I want so much more. I limit myself to kissing his cheek.

We drop our joined hands, walking to my front door and wiping our feet on the welcome mat, “Dad, I'm home!” I call. Poseidon waves to us from the kitchen, beckoning us in. Nico sniffs wetly, and it's cute. My dad smiles at us, “Hey guys.” We nod, “Hey 'Seidon,” Nico mutters. Softly, he says, “Your dad wants you to go home and pack, okay? Me and Percy will be over soon.” Nico nods, punching my shoulder, before walking out. I watch him go, my gut tight.

My father turns to me, patting the kitchen chair. I take it, bag at my feet. “We'll be heading over in twenty minutes,” He says, “Your friends are meant to be meeting up, with a McDonald's Happy Meal.” I nod, sensing a plan. Poseidon smiles, “We'll all go in and say goodbye to Nico, and wave him off.” My stomach sinks at that part, but I nod, smiling with him, “Sounds good.”

With that, I stand, and go to my room. I sigh a little, leaving my backpack by my desk. I'm still wet, damp, but I don't care. Nico will take me how I am. So I just grab my camera, pocket my phone, and go to my closet. I grab the towel that's still on the door, and dry my hair. I blink in the mirror, trying to tame my hair at least a little bit.

The photos catch my attention.

I didn't look at them too much last night, but now I have the chance. Gently, I trace my fingers along Nico's jawline, his smile. The pool's lights illuminating him this soft teal-blue. I remember how we started talking about my mom, how she used to treat me, and how Nico chuckled softly and commented something sarcastic about it.

Another photo has us just floating, when the camera was on the clunky, L-shaped timer thingy. My head on his stomach, a cigarette in his hand; the camera caught it just so that his exhale was gray-blue. Softly, his hand had come to tangle itself in my hair, and he'd muttered lulling _I love you's_ and _we'll stay 'til sunrise, sugar._ My finger lingers on his hand with the cigarette, smiling. I remember the specific scent of ash, mixing with the aroma of _him_ and the chlorine.

Sighing, I pull back and meet my tired eyes in the mirror. The lost sleep was worth it, I find. I look to the window, finding Nico circuiting his room to pack his bag, ignoring his father sitting on his bed. I walk back until my knees hit my own bed, falling back and hiding my face in my hands.

He'll be gone soon, and it feels like he's dying.

* * *

Every step towards his house is like performing a funeral march.

My camera is in my hand as we knock on the di Angelo-Levesque's door. Erebus answers, smiling politely, and moving aside to let us in. He calls, “Hades! Your friend is here with his children!” Tyson holds my father's other hand. With that, Erebus shuts the door behind us and moves to return to gathering suitcases by the door. Two of them, and Nico's one isn't there yet. I hear crashing upstairs, but I ignore it in favor or sitting with Tyson and Hazel on the couch. She waves at me, siddling up to me, “Do you like Modern Family?” She inquires. I shrug, “Never watched it.” That is answer enough, and she switches the channel to what I assume is 'Modern Family'.

Tyson rubs his eye, yawning a little. Nico storms downstairs, me watching him over the back of the couch. He looks pissed off, and quips something like, “Non mi importa,” After his uncle hesitantly inquires, “Sei impacchettato?” He stalks over to the armchair adjacent to the couch, waving halfheartedly at us, before grabbing the cushion behind him and planting his face into it. So things weren't going well within the twenty minutes we were apart.

And then somebody knocks at the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * The hat Nico's wearing is [this fucking thing](http://restyle.pl/eng_pl_Black-Gothic-Hat-WITCH-Wide-brim-hat-stiff-nugoth-headdress-1669_1.jpg) \- sorry if I named it wrong, i just got a name of a hat that looked sorta like it. I don't know what they're called, but look up 'NU GOTH' and you get a shit ton of them, and hell, I fucking own one, but y'know. Any of you know what they're called?


	20. "I fucking love you, di Angelo!"

_You were never alone._  
_We are all wolves  
_ _howling at the same moon._

\- Atticus

*

**CHAPTER TWENTY**

Everything that's happened so far? Doesn't matter. Because right here, right now, he's all I care about. I don't care where he came from, what past haunts him. It is, after all, in the past.

I just see his face in my hands, his dark crow-eyes blinking widely at me with wolfish teeth that are too big for his mouth, releasing pants of excitement. He looks at me like I'm his world, like I'm his universe. I don't think you understand how much that means to me.

Pulling him close, foreheads and noses bumping together, I whisper, “Can we just exist together?” He blinks, breath hitched, chest constricting in the prettiest of ways. The world falls away, a reverse affect: the world falls to gray, whilst he bursts to the brim with color.

For a time he doesn't answer, it feels like I'm suffocating. Heart fluttering, a pulsating pain that makes my lungs wheeze with the effort to breathe around. But finally, he parts those addicting lips, and mutters, “I thought we already were.”

My face splits into a grin, and I smash our mouths together.

* * *

Poseidon gives me a careful, watchful look as he informs me, “Your dad wants you to go home and pack, okay? Me and Percy will be over soon.” I sounds more like a dismissal than an actual statement, but either way I nod. I punch Percy on the way out, mustering a smile. It falls the moment I leave the Jackson household.

Two hours, ten minutes. I'll be gone soon, stuck in Nevada offices close to Las Vegas with the burning temptation to waste my days in misery and emptiness.

Sighing, I open the door to my home and step past the threshold. Hades sits at the table in the kitchen, conversing with my uncle about...something. I don't care to listen in; heading for my room, leaving soaked footprints in my wake. Not that I care. The stairs groan under my feet, the handrail creaking under the white-knuckle grip I have on it. My boots pound on the landing as I reach the final steps, heels scuffing the wooden floorboards as I move. Nothing is letting me go by quietly today; I'm not allowed to hide and pretend the next few hours aren't happening.

I take off the silly, wide-brimmed hat Hazel has bestowed upon me, settling it on the bedpost. And, like Erebus had done previously, I hesitantly run my hands over the splintered wood that would've held up another bedframe. The bedframe rests somewhere beyond the junkyard, in burnt ash that would've been whisked off someplace by now. ~~She's coming home soon~~.

Closing the door behind me, I sling my suitcase on me bed, from where it's been resting on the center of the floor since Tuesday. I move around, grabbing clothes and unceremoniously dumping them in there. My phone charger – phone still in my pocket – and my sketchpad with a pencil case. I don't need much. I carefully wrap my camera up in a shirt and wedge it in the corner, so it doesn't get damaged.

Scratching my head, I turn in a circle. Nothing immediately stands out to me, until I glance out my window to Percy's. He's standing in front of his closet, looking at something on the inside of the door. I don't know what, but the look on his face is raw and soft, smiling. Humming, I cock my head with a smile of my own.

I wonder when I became so sappy.

My hair is damp between my fingers, so I wander out to the bathroom and grab a towel. I strip off all my damp clothing – I don't like the idea of moping around for two hours in damp clothing, and then sit in a car ride to the airport in the same state. I dump my clothing in the laundry hamper, and dry off with my towel before glancing in the mirror.

Tired, stressed, pissed.

I turn away, jogging back to my room and hopping around until I get a pair of gray jeans on. Then I wrestle myself into another shirt that had some skull on it, wedging my boots back on. Sighing, I kick away my backpack, and look down at my nails once again. Hazel loves doing my nails, I tell myself; she likes how I let her put any ugly combination of colors together – on my toes, not my fingers, dear god. But...she's also really good at keeping things how I like them; simple, black. Black goes with anything. My nails look like she's painted a moon on every one of them, and I love it. And, believe me, I'm not usually one for icky shit like painting nails.

Somebody knocks on my door. Well – not _somebody_ , I know who it is, by the tempo and harshness of each knock. I deflate, a sigh leaving me, “It's open.” Hades slips through the gap in the door, shoving it a little to move the set of drawers back against the wall from where I've moved it to purposely block him from the room.

Hades grunts as he finally gets through, grumbling, “You need to stop doing that with your drawers.” I shrug, moving to my bed and zipping up my suitcase. I drop it on the floor, ready for me to get later. My father fixes me with a profound look, voice careful, weary as he states, “We need to talk.” I shrug, scratching my nose, “What's there to talk 'bout?”

“Bianca.”

“And how she'll be home soon.”

I'm glad my back's too him. Otherwise, I might've screamed at him; at that eerily blank, studious look he always gets with me. Like I'm not his son, like I'm some goddamn specimen for him to study and learn.

“What about it.” I state, shrugging, “She'll be home.” I hear him shift on my bed, probably leaning his elbows on his knees, with that ever-growing light in his stupid, stupid fucking eyes, watching every _twitch_ I make.

“Yes, but where will that leave you, Nico? Are _you_ going to leave?” It sounds like he wants me to. It settles something cold, clammy, callous in my chest. I fight it off with a snort, a frustrated sound, and shift my stance to the cockiness I know so well, “Sounds like you want that.” He's silent, and inside, something is sickened by how long it stretches, before he says, “I...entertain the idea, sometimes.” Wonderful. It's always an ego booster when you learn that your parent wants you gone. That you're unwelcome.

Somewhere, I kind of expected it.

So he continues, I don't really listen until I hear, “Bianca would've stayed, had you not pushed her,” Which is utter bullshit. I tell him so with a snarl, whirling to glare at him, “She would've left either fucking way. She wanted to go find _meaning_ or whatever the fuck, and she would've left to find it whether I was there or not,” He opens his mouth, temper quickly draining, but mine's gone. “So don't go pinning that shit on me, fucker.” I've never had a respect for adults, I find; refractory, recalcitrant.

He flushes red at the insult, as shitty as it is, and stands. “Nico -” I flip him off, slamming my closet door shut and rummaging underneath for the box. _The_ box. Covered in glitter and silly stickers, crayon all over it in the crappy designs of a five year old. I shove it at him, the shoe box, “Look in there and tell me that in every single one of those fucking pictures, she's got any reason to leave _because of me_.”

It bounces between his hands at the brusqueness I've given it to him, and all color drains from his face as he peers under the lid. “Get the fuck outta my room.”I tell him. Hades swallows thickly, argument forgotten. He leaves the box on the set of drawers, before shutting the door behind him. Thank god.

I grab the box in a bout of anger and move to hurl it out the window. I freeze, panting, my stomach churning – I feel like I'm gonna hurl, after that. Dropping the box, I hide it with an older article of clothing, before standing in the center of the room. Where it started. Back to square one, it seems. Nothing to do, nothing to take my anger out on.

Running a hand through my hair, I collapse onto bed, awkwardly dragging my boombox from under it with my foot. I kick it lightly with my heel, until I get the right button. The play button, since that's the only functioning one on this old thing aside from _skip_ , which is too small to hammer on with my foot. I'm not sure what's playing, other than it's something ironic to my predicament.

The ceiling swirls a little.

My chest feels taut, fingers thrumming with anticipation for...for. I don't know, but it sucks – pins and needles crawling under my skin. Feeling particularly antisocial, I curl up pathetically on my bed, burying my face in the sole pillow. Minute pass, and I don't really know what was happening amongst them, until there's a much softer knock on my door.

“Nico?” Hazel calls. I groan in response, listening to the door groan as it opens, the gentle pad of her feet on the floor. The minute _click_ as my door is shut again. Her weight makes the bed dip, by my stomach, just where my knees pull up. She leans against my tucked thighs, one of her hands coming to stroke soothing circles into my side. “Are you okay? I heard yelling earlier.”

My hand snakes until I find her knee, squeezing it. Hazel giggles a little, holding my fingers in hers, brushing her fingers over my nails again, “Let me paint your nails again?” Humming, I shrug, “Later, sorellina.” She nods, flopping to lie beside me, tugging at my hair until I look up at her, “What's up?” Hazel shrugs, smiling, “I wanna see you 'fore you go.”

I sit up, hugging her, “Hey, I'll be back 'fore you know it, sis.” She giggles again, that pretty little melody that I'll never get sick of, and kisses my cheek, “I know. 'Specially since you've given me your laptop, and the candy stash.” I snort, blinking slowly at her, “So I don't need to worry about you missing me, then?” It's half a genuine question, half a tease. Genuine, because what if I left permanently? Just – _gone._ Like Bianca, like dad wants. He said so, after all. She furrows her eyebrows, pouting, “Of course I will! Nothing can replace you, bro!” And my gut is metaphorically stabbed. Why would I even think of leaving Hazel like that? God, I'm the worst.

Inner turmoil and self-loathing aside, I hug her with a chuckle, “No?” Hazel shakes her head stubbornly, “God no, Nico! What's gotten into you?” Dad's words. I don't tell her that, obviously – if I were to, I don't know what'd happen.

So, instead, I just shrug, “Nothing, Hazel, nothing. Just joking.” Her golden eyes sear into me with age to old for a damn ten year old, so I ruffle her hair and push her up, “Go, you. 'Seidon's meant ot be over soon, with the boys.” She smiles, suddenly excited. Hazel races for the door, but screeches to a stop and lunges at me. Carefully, she kisses my bruised eye, patting my cheek, “Be good in Nevada, you hear? Erebus needs you for _help_ , not for trouble.” Then she's off, a cacophony of giggles in her wake.

One more time, I glance to the ceiling. I frown.

_Help, not for trouble_.

Is she implying that I cause havoc? I mean, I _do_ , I'm not denying it. But the idea that Hazel has caught on already is worrying, and scary on a level. My sister has lost hope in me. What a terrible fucking development.

I feel like shit.

* * *

 

I hear Erebus shout something to dad downstairs – Poseidon and the boys were here. I sigh heavily, dragging myself to sit up, trudging to the window. I watch Tyson tot into the house, before the door shuts, the sound resonating up the stairs.

Dammit. I shuffle back to my boombox, crouching down to press the _stop_ button. The cassette whirs to a stop, distorted as the sound ceases to play. Then I slam my door behind me, striding with tempered steps to the stairs, storming down them despite having company. I'm a brat, and I'll flaunt it how I please, goddammit.

I see the adults in the kitchen, muttering amongst themselves. I don't care to listen in, much like I hadn't when I had first stepped into the house. Percy watches me from over the back of the cough, curiously concerned. Tyson and Hazel flank my boyfriend, which my mouth twitches fondly at briefly. Modern Family streams on the television, Hazel explaining the characters to Tyson excitedly. I'll have to try and buy a boxset of this stupid show for her while I'm away or something – she loves this show so much, it's unreal.

I fall into the armchair at the foot of the coffee table, hitting my head on the backrest. Then I grab the cushion, avoiding everything by hiding my anger in it.

_I don't want to go_

_I don't want to go_

_I don't want to go_

_I DON'T WANT TO FUCKING GO_

I sigh deeply, pulling back. I'm ready to fix Percy with a smile, ready to try and make the last hour with him pleasant and leave with a light heart, but _somebody knocks on the fucking door and I swear to god I'm going to tear the head off of the person who had the audacity to do so with my bare fucking hands._

Standing with overemphasized attitude, I stride to the door with thunderous steps, swing it open, “What.” Oh shit. Oops. Will's smile falters a little, looking from my pissed off expression to the way my hand is white-knuckled in a fist. “Well howdy to you too, neighbor.” He snorts, and brings a fucking Happy Meal from behind his back. Lou and Cecil continue to grin, too, which I admire them for. I release a long, long breath through my teeth, like a pipe letting out gas. I stand to the side, gesturing widely with my arm, “You've made it to Hell's gates – you may proceed, though I doubt you'll live long.” The trio chuckle, and Lou bumps my fist as she walks past, green hair down and curling at her shoulders.

They make themselves home in the living-room, shouts of, “Hazel!” and “Sup Shark Bait!” Trickling to me from the door. My nerves simmer a little, the breeze hitting me full-force before I close the door. It's like all the steam in my head's been forced out. I feel considerably lighter.

Strolling into the living-room, I see that Cecil and Will have taken to my armchair, legs off the arms as they sit back to back, Will holding the Happy Meal. Probably for Hazel or something. Lou sits where Percy was, the kids flanking her. My boyfriend now leans on the back of it, on his forearms, like he's waiting for me to stand beside him.

I smile softly as I walk over to him; his eyes haven't left me since I came downstairs. “Sorry,” I clear my throat a little – god, I'm such a little shit - “Didn't mean to take it out on you.” Lou cranes her neck to look at me, smirking, “Dude, since when were you sorry for shit? Highly out of character, dude.” I flick her nose in retaliation, much to her whining. Hazel then thumps her thigh, “No swearing. Babies around.” She pats Tyson's head lightly.

I snort, glancing to Will. He smiles at me, beckoning me over. I feel Percy snag my belt-loops teasingly before I leave his side. I look back at him, watching him smirk. The blond grins up at me, then shoves the Happy Meal against my chest, “Y'think we'd be leavin' you without a goodbye?” I shrug, forcing down a smile behind my Happy Meal, “Eh.”

Cecil snorts, “What're you? Canadian?” Hazel throws the remote at him, huffing, “Shh! Phil's about to find Hayleigh kissing the weather reporter!” We all look at her oddly, then to the television. I snort, rolling my eyes, “Scusi, sorellina.” I mouth 'thanks' to Will, ruffling Cecil's hair before I stroll back over to Percy. I open the box, pull out the fries, and munch on them a little. Percy smiles down at, and I meet his eyes. Pretty greens and blues, golden flecks nearer the pupil, and filled with affection. He reaches for my fries, brushing our fingers together as he grabs a handful of fries. I flick him a little, but overall just let him have it. I don't have enough energy to be angry anymore.

I shuffle, leaning against him a little as I chew. His hand discreetly comes around to rest on my waist, arm around me. Nobody will see it over the back of the couch, so I let it slide. After all; he doesn't want anybody knowing at the moment. I sigh softly, feeling his heartbeat through my side. It's almost in sync with mine, but it feels _stronger_ , and a little bit _faster_ , and I can only chalk that up to nerves.

The fries are quickly gone, and I feel at peace – we're all just here, the television this mindless drone in the background as we just...coexist. I rummage around in my box, pulling out a cheeseburger. I smile, taking a bite. Percy sniffs like a dog would, batting eyelashes at me. I snort, letting him steal a bite. And then Lou clears her throat pointedly, blinking with moss-green eyes. I pass the burger down to her, watch her take a chomp. Then Hazel whines, Lou giving her the burger. And it's passed to Tyson, who made grabby-hands at the food. After that, Cecil said, “I got the munchies.” To which the youngest in the room passes the burger to Cecil, who takes a bite. By the time it's gotten to Will, it's only worth one bite. He raises a questioning eyebrow at me, and I just shrug.

And then it's gone, but I don't really mind. I give the shitty Minion toy to Tyson, since I could care less. I chuck the box at the table. Somebody will pick it up sooner or later. I glance to Percy, finding him trying to memorize every detail on my face. “What?” I mutter. He shakes his head, smiling, “Nothing.” And proceeds to tug me closer, squeezing my hip.

“I don't want you to go,” He whispers. Everybody has their eyes on the television, so Pery gets away with kissing my head, “But I'll endure it.” A playful lilt comes to his voice, and he grins mischievously as he whispers huskily, “I'll be nailing you to the nearest wall when you get back, though.” I snort, chuckling a little, “Sure you will, Shark Bait.” He puffs out his chest, “I sure will.”

I shove him a little, rolling my eyes fondly, “Totally.” He nods, grinning, “Definitely.” He elbows me a little, waggling his eyebrows. My laughter dies in my throat as Erebus walks in with Hades and Poseidon talking behind him. If my father is annoyed with all my friends over, he doesn't show it. Erebus walks over, patting my shoulder, “Bags?”

Shit. I sigh, but he chuckles, “Lighten up, Nico, we're not leaving just yet. I need to check our tickets and passports.” I groan even louder, dragging my boots on the floor – probably leaving marks, but whatever – and trudge up the stairs. Percy trails me, I hear him, and his unhidden chuckle as he watches me drag my hand along the rail.

I flop onto my bed for the fourth time today, with Percy shutting the door behind me, “What's got you sad?” I groan loudly, shaking my head. He sits beside me, hand spread on the small of my back, “Hey,” I turn to him, pouting. I struggle to hold it as he gives me one of those blinding smiles, ducking low so his breath brushes over my face, “What.”

He pecks my eye – the bruised one, like Hazel had – and pulls back, “I love you.” I feel heat rise to my face, and return to hiding in my pillow. Percy reclines against me, face against my shoulder whilst his arm is slung around me, “I really do; I'll call you every day, every hour.” I snort, rolling my eyes, “I'll be busy, Percy. How about every morning, every evening, yeah?”

He furrows his eyebrows, “What's the time difference?” I snort, kicking him a little, “Nevada is literally next door, sugar,” He makes a confused noise. “No time difference – we'll be in the same time zone.” He sighs heavily, moving to kiss my cheek, “Got music?” I nod, wrestling around until I get my phone out of my pocket. It ends up with me on my back, Percy curled around my side, groping for my phone. I hold it out of his reach, “We gotta go back downstairs, Percy.”

He huffs dejectedly, tightening his hold on me, “Just a little longer,” he says, “One song.” Sighing, I'm quiet, before I sigh, defeated. I can't say no to him, and it's scary that I cant. I put on a song, and suddenly my boyfriend pulls me up and starts awkwardly dancing around, myself being dragged along the floor. I chuckle, gaining my footing. I don't know what we're doing, but it's a mutation of box and square dancing. I love it, and he keeps laughing that loud, excessively lovely noise.

Our feet are hammering on the floor as we fumble around to the severely fast beat, singing out of tune to the song. I trip up a few times, but he doesn't seem to mind, finding an excuse to bring me closer – a hand on my waist, the other linked with mine, my spare hand on his shoulder. He chuckles, whirling me around, dipping me low. Faces centimeters apart, his breath smells like chocolate and mint, a gleam in his eyes that would have anybody dropping their pants for him.

I laugh a little as he pulls me back up, and we're hammering some more and yelling the lines of _With tears in my eyes, I begged you to stay_ at the top of our lungs, and it's stupid, it really is – Friday evening, and we're hiding from everything up here in my stuffy excuse for a room filled with memories I want dead and buried.

“You said,” He sings, and I grin as we stomp our feet to the song, no longer dancing but just holding hands tightly as we stomp in circles. He looks at me pointedly in that split second, and I cackle, “Hey man I love you, but no _fucking way!_ ” He grips me by the waist, I hold onto his shoulders as we spin around again. My face hurts from the smiling.

Percy settles me down, our foreheads together, “I love you,” He whispers over the music, and I cackle drunkenly on...on _something_ , I'm not sure about what it is, it may just be his voice, but it's okay, I don't care right now.

I chuckle, taking out a cigarette and lighting it, taking a puff and wandering to the window. He joins me, like he always does – there where never be a time where he doesn't, I like to believe, and now is not a time where he will not. I pass it to him, he takes a hit, passes it back. Back and forth, back and forth, and then it's gone. The smoke curls out the window. As I ready to chuck the dead end, Percy catches it and stuffs it in his pocket, “I'll throw it later.” I nod, leaning back a little, “Okay.”

And it is, for a while.

In these moments, I can pretend everything is just that.

Okay.

He smiles at me with slightly crooked teeth and accepting ataraxy in his oceanic eyes, and he's drugged me, he must've for me to feel the need to be swallowed up by the waves in his eyes, to be dragged away by them and be held until I gasp for air and never be let back to the surface.

I blink, and he cocks his head at me, “What is it, Nico? What's going on in your head?” The words make me want to scream, to break down, to cry, because honestly? _Too much_. Too fucking much, and I feel like my head's going to roll off my shoulders, my brain's going to burst and the remains seep out of my ears in a clotted mixture of blood and memories. I crack a weak smile – I know it's pathetic, the way his face turns concerned tells me so – and shrug, “I'm leaving in half an hour.” Is all I can muster.

It's like the floodgates have been opened.

Just – I. He wells up a little, nodding, biting his lip. Unsteadily, he breathes, “Yeah. Yeah, you are, huh?” I nod. His hand – clammy, shaky, desperate for comfort I can't offer – grabs mine, squeezing it as hard as I had been doing earlier in a lifeline grip. “Hey,” I coo, brokenly, “Sugar, everything'll be fine.” I guess this is as good a time as any to perform our emotional goodbyes.

Percy gathers me into his arms, hiding his face in my hair and breathing in the rotting odor of the frayed spines of books, the fungus on damp trees, the wet earth after rain. I taste salt on my lips, and realize I'm crying. I've never known anybody able to make me do such a thing, but he's made me cry more than twice within these two weeks. It's gotta be a world record by now – Percy as the record holder, perhaps.

“I – fuck,” Percy exhales heavily, holding me tightly, even closer, and I decide that I need to start stealing more of his clothing before I leave. “I'll stick by you 'til you leave, yeah?” He croaks, sounding choked himself, and I chuckle wetly, “Fuck yeah you will. As my boyfriend, and my best friend.” He pulls back, eyes glassy. He smiles, watery, and chuckles, “Fuck yeah, baby. I love you.”

I kiss him, rushed, needy, and taste blood bloom as I split my lip on his teeth. He chuckles, taking whatever I offer him, before there's a knock at the door. “You guys okay in there? You've been here for fifteen minutes, now.” It's Poseidon, and he's chuckling. I move away, turning to face the street through my window as he peeks through. He _aww's_ when he sees Percy teary-eyed and bottom lip trembling, then me trying to deny the fact that I am legitimately crying. “Okay, you guys done saying goodbye?” He inquires.

Both me and my boyfriend shake our heads, but his dad sighs, “Well, we gotta wrap it up. Your friends downstairs are wondering where you are.” I curse quietly as the door shuts. Percy looks tired, fed up, and he grabs me to lure me in for one more, final, last, terminating kiss. It's softer than anything, a feather-light touch of our lips, and he sighs through his nose, “C'mon, get your suitcase.”

I do, wiping my face on my sleeve, and grabbing my wide-brimmed hat. No way am I leaving it here. Hazel would kill me.

I link our pinkies together as we trudge down the stairs, reluctantly letting go when we turn into the living-room. I leave my suitcase by my uncle's two others, seeing our passports and tickets settled on them. I curse under my breath, when I see my name: _Niccolo Antonio di Angelo_. My jaw tenses, having seen my full name, and shame blooms to my face.

I remember when my mom would yell at me, scold me for being naughty.

“ _Niccoló Antonio di Angelo, cos'hai fatto?_ ” ( _What have you done?!_ She'd cry.)

Sighing heavily, I trail into the living-room where everybody sat looking glum. I boom loudly, unexpectedly, grinning as wide as I can with fake light in my eyes, “Less frowning, more being glad I won't annoy your sorry asses for a weekend!” It gains a few chuckles, but not much else. I go around the couch, coming to sit beside Percy on the armchair. Lou has been moved to sit with Hazel in her lap, Tyson beside her with Cecil along the back of the couch with Will on the other end. We sit how the blond and curly haired boy had been sitting, happy with the proximity and contact. The show Hazel had been watching is now _Jaws 2_ with the crappy music and shitty camera footage. A classic.

The adults walk in, and I'm surprised to find my dad looking a little dejected. Though, I tell myself, the look probably isn't for me. He's probably sad he has to go with Poseidon to take the kids to the aquarium tomorrow.

I huff, raising an eyebrow to Erebus. He shakes his head, “Ten minutes.” I nod, and exmine my nails. They're excruciatingly pretty. I feel Percy lean back, resting his head on my shoulder. Inaudibly, only for me to hear, he mutters, “Ten minutes 'til I start missing watching your ass when you walk.” Which causes me to snicker.

At least one of us still has some humor to muster.

Lou whines a little, coming over with Hazel in her arms. She paws at my knee, before coming to settle on my lap with a miserable Hazel on hers. Then Tyson groans loudly, coming over and scrabbling to sit with Percy, petting my hair int hat meticulous way that I have come to know as _Noooooo._

And his reaction causes Cecil to groan, falling from the back of the couch to sit at the foot of the arm chair, one of my arms falling to ruffle his hair, “Hey pothead.” He grumbles a little incoherently, something along the lines of endearment, so I let it slide. And then there's just Will, shaking his head fondly with his arms crossed.

Percy beckons him over, pushing Tyson off lightly. Will comes over, and suddenly gets yanked to sit on Percy's lap, who then in turn grabs Tyson by his shirt and settles him on the blond. “There.” he states firmly, “All together.”

The adults watch us with dubious expressions, until Poseidon picks up Percy's forgotten camera and snaps a photo. “Love you Nico!” Hazel shouts, and suddenly it's a shouting match to see who can shout my name the loudest, who can proclaim their love for me the most. It's a tie between my sister and my boyfriend.

Erebus chuckles, coming to stand beside the armchair, reaching down to rest a hand on my shoulder, “Ti amo, mio niporte preferito.” I smile at him carefully, appreciative of his comment. I reply with something akin, though he doesn't catch it over Tyson shrieking, “I LOVE HIM THE MOST!” Over the racket.

I hear the flash of a camera; Poseidon must be taking more photos. I smile at that, looking around at the grinning idiots that have trapped me to this damned chair. Somewhere amongst it all, I feel Percy's hand wedge against the backrest with mine, clumsily, uncomfortably linking our fingers together. I let out this sound, somewhere between a snort and a choke, and realize, with humiliation, my eyes have watered up again.

Nobody notices, except the man in black beside Poseidon, looking grim and serious as the morgue owner I know more than my own father. I look away, happy to whisper, “Be good,” Into Hazel's hair.

Cecil stretches, “I love Nico more than pot!” Lou replies with a sneaky comment, causing them to get louder than I've heard them, which causes Will to get dragged into the mix. I smile at them, then to Hazel and Tyson, who have moved to yell at each other over me and Percy's heads, “No, I'm his sister, I love him more, Tyson! I totally do!”

“No you don't, he's my Death Prince that slays Percy-Monsters! I love him more! Really, really!”

“Oh yeah?!”

“Yeah!”

“I bet you don't!”

“I bet you don't- _er_!”

Through it all, I feel Percy breathe calmly against me, his eyes closed as his head rests on my shoulder. I blink down at him, feeling at peace amongst the riot. He feels my gaze, peering at me with this...this _look._ And everything feels frozen in place. Just me and him, and the noise gets drowned out, and all I can focus on is _him_ , and him alone.

His hand squeezes mine, and it's like he's squeezing my heart with enough force to crush my lungs. Bile rises in my throat, and I want to vomit. I want to heave until I collapse – preferably into my boyfriend's arms – and just let my legs turn to jelly, but I can't.

I have to leave.

So I toughen up, letting out a cackle more delirious and maddened than anything anybody's ever heard and watch with heinous triumph as Hades' eyes widen with shock and what looks like fear. _What has become of my son?_ I see in those dark pools of ink.

I grew up, learned what the real world was, and went mad with the realism of it all.

That's what happened, you fucker.

My mother died with the false hopes that I would become somebody famous, somebody with motive to live their life the _right way_.

My sister abandoned me at an unsteady, crazy time in my life and left me to loose my mind with the emptiness, the loneliness.

You fucked off to god-knows where and left me to raise my little sister. That's what happened, that's what I've become. A teenager maddened by responsibility too mature for his age.

I have learned the meaning of self-loathing, in those long, dark hours of morning where the skies are still blue instead of red and the moon is the only thing to see me weep and mourn something I never truly felt for.

Until I met Percy, and he had made me something a tiny bit better than that, and if you're scared of that then you can fuck yourself, Hades, because by god, I have never known the meaning of _going back._ And never will. There's _no going back._

I am here, I have sweat, bled, and cried to get to where I am.

No chances of me falling into the background. Not again.

I feel Hazel kiss my forehead, pulling me from my mind. “Hm?” I hum, and she looks like she's ready to cry me rivers and set me sailing on them. Everybody has fallen silent. Percy isn't looking at me anymore, and above me, my uncle looks regretful, remorseful. And _oh._ My heart aches and bleeds, and I want to die.

“It's time to go,” Says Hades, unforgiving, unsympathetic. I nod stiffly, fisting the fabric of Hazel's sweater and breathing in what I can of her hair. Coconuts and basil. She stands, as do I, along with everybody else. I don't say a word, neither do they. I make my way to my suitcase, stuffing the ticket and passport into my jacket's pocket.

Everybody follows me outside, Erebus lingering to say his goodbyes to my dad. I don't stick around to hear it, getting ready to just slip into his black '66 Chevrolet Sedan. It's old, vintage, and absolutely stunning, it's still in good condition and ~~I salivate when I think about it~~.

First person to hug me is Hazel. She hides her face in my shirt, and giggles when I remind her of my candy stash, “It'll be gone when you get back,” She warns me, before kissing my cheek and adjusting my wide-brimmed hat. Then she moves to stand by Percy, in fear she clings to me and never lets go. Cecil comes up and glomps me, because he's an emotional teddy bear that's emotion and soft and teary-eyed and miserable. I pat his back, humming softly, “Dude, chill. I'll bring back some of the good shit from Las Vegas, sound good?” He chuckles wetly into my neck, nodding, “Sounds good dude.”

He pulls back, sniffling into his sleeve. I pat his head, watching him shuffle to Will, who pats him soothingly. Lou bounds up, bumping my fist. Her hair bounces on her shoulders, and I scoff at her, “Fuckin' girly, ain't ya?” She gasps, batting her eyelashes at me, before smirking, “Thought I'd pretty up for your goodbye, ungrateful fucker.” I tug at her hair a little, smirking, “Ooh, _pretty up_ , huh? Sounds like a date, Ellen.” She snorts, “In your dreams, gay boy.” I wink, waggling my eyebrows at her.

Then she softens, and smiles genuinely, “ Gonna miss you, asshole.” She hugs me, and I lean into it, “You too, blockhead.” She pulls back, punching my arm to make up for the way she hiccups, “Look whatcha making me do, jackass.” I ruffle her hair, still smiling, “Hey, I didn't do nothing, big baby.” She flips me off, sauntering over to Cecil and standing beside him with her arms crossed. Tough girl.

And then Will is racing towards me, blabbering and crying, “I hate you why do you always make me cry an' crap, god, I hate you, why're you leavin' I hate you.” I snort, rolling my eyes. I hug him, patting his shaggy hair, “Sunshine, you make yourself cry. You cry at the fuckin' movies when Thirteen Reasons Why was being aired in the _other room._ ”

He snorts, and purposely wipes his snot on my shoulder. I scrunch my nose, “Geeze, thanks cowboy, sure know how to make a guy feel loved. Jake will be a lucky guy if you man up and get with him.” He blooms red, but chuckles anyways. His blue eyes are still leaking water as he becomes serious, “You stay safe y'hear? I don't want you getting' hurt in fuckin' Vegas with all those creepers.” I clap the side of his head, cackling, “You say that like you aren't one, Will”. He gasps, and whacks me harder, “Mean.”

I rub my arm, shaking my head. I have this stupid grin on my face and it wont come off and I hate it. But...i love it. These guys know how I feel, for once, and...it's okay. Like it should be. I need to stop worrying what they think of me; I know they'll accept me as I am.

I breathe heavily, pushing him away with, “Later, dude.”

I'm seconds to turning tail and rushing back into the house. Erebus strolls to me, patting my head and opening the door. I glance to Percy, but we said our goodbyes in my room. He smiles weakly at me, waving. I flip him off with a put-together grin and slip into the backseat of the car. Erebus waves to everybody before putting his suitcases in the front seat; mine beside me in the back.

**FUCK**.

_FUCK_.

Fuck.

I roll down the window, looking to the red sun hanging low on the roof of my house. The skies are all made of fire, and it's like the world is dying. Mine sure feels like it. I turn to them all, and feel trepidation in my gut as Hades strolls to stand before my window.

I glower at him, ready to snap. We didn't exactly leave on good terms.

He pulls something out of his pocket, wordlessly, and holds it out between his fingers. A photo. Of me and Percy. _He snooped in my room_. It's of us kissing. The one taken all those days ago in the the billboard fort, with the blue lettering of _FUCK_ behind us with those fairy-lights and the remains of my failed dream catcher in my lap, his hands on my cheeks as my fingers are curled in his shirt.

With shaking hands, I swipe it from him, and shove it into my pocket, not once taking my eyes away from Hades.

He clears his throat in the most clumsiest, uncomposed manner I've ever seen him. “Behave.” is all he says. Anger flares me me. I want to punch him. I want to shred my nails down his fucking face and watch his skin rise in ugly red welts that bleed and scar. I want to kick him so fucking hard that I break his ribs and my foot goes all the way through him, breaking his spine. I want to do so many things to this man and I want him to _**feel it**._

Instead, I smirk, fingers digging into the window frame.

“I've never been good at that, have I?” His nostrils flare, fists forming at his sides, “Nico, I mean it.” I huff, rolling my eyes, “What're you gonna do? You can't exactly me ground me an entire state away, if you hadn't noticed.”

he leans in close, grabbing the collar of my shirt, “Behave yourself, or you'll have hell to come back to, you little shit.” With a snicker, I raise my eyebrows, “So I'll be coming home as normal? I suppose I can live with that.”

My father furrows his eyebrows, glaring darkly, the promise of _murder_ on the tip of his tongue. Nervously, Poseidon gently retracts Hades' hand from my shirt, patting the fucker on the arm like he was soothing a dog. “Now, now, let's not get feisty when he's about to leave, Hades.” yeah, Hades, get your shit together, man.

Percy looks conflicted.

I wink at him, smiling. He doesn't smile back, just stares at me with intent. Good or bad, I don't know, but I've never known him to be _bad_ , necessarily, so I'll say good. I cock my head at him as the adults bicker beside me, but he doesn't drop his gaze, or his concentration and focus.

My stomach drops as my father says a final goodbye to Erebus, and the engine rumbles loudly on the sickeningly silent road. My throat tightens, my grip on the window frame makes my knuckles and ends of my fingers turn white.

My mouth becomes dry, air wont come to me, and my eyes are glued to Percy's.

He's still frozen, stuck between something I'm unaware of. He watches me helplessly, hands wringing themselves as turmoil broils under his skin. We're going slow, because you're not meant to speed on these streets, but we're picking up pace as we near the corner.

“Wait, Nico _wait!_ ” Percy breaks from his trance, racing to catch up with the car. It takes Erebus a delayed few seconds to screech the car to a stop.

Percy looks like he might trip and any second, legs working at a pace far too fast. He's gonna fall, gonna crack his head open on the side walk. Everybody looks at him with confusion, Lou, Will and Cecil jogging hesitantly to figure out what's wrong.

My boyfriend skids to a stop before my window, and grabs my shoulders, pulling me out half way. Messily, he mashes our mouths together. My hand finds his hair, laughter bubbling out of my mouth. I can breathe, if only temporarily. His hand finds my ribs, clutching at the jacket there, and tilting his head just so, licking at the blood that spills from my - once again – reopened scab. “Nico I'm gonna miss you so fucking much, I'm sorry for shit that made you feel sad, and god damn is it gonna stop when you get back, baby, I promise.”

He jutters it out breathlessly, still grabbing at me desperately. I grin, squeezing his hands, “Hey, chill, sugar. I'll be back 'fore you know it, and we'll spend hours talking about it.” Percy smiles hopefully, silently crying, “Yeah?” I nod, kissing him gently, softly, “Now I gotta go, okay? I promise – the days will go by like seconds.”

He doesn't believe my words, and neither do I. He squeezes my hands one more time, before stepping away from the car. Scrabbling, I yank my camera from my suitcase and hang half-way out the window as Erebus starts driving again. I snap a photo.

Percy grinning, waving to me with puppy eyes and that mesmerized look he'd first ever given me. He looks like he holds me on a pedestal, and whilst I hate it, I can't help but love it. Behind him, Lou stands with Cecil; shocked, stock-still. Further back is Will, holding Hazel's hand – blurrier the futher away you look. Percy, the closest, is the best and the prettiest. I look from the photo in time to see Percy cup his hands over his mouth and _scream,_

“I fucking love you, di Angelo!”

And, just before we turn the corner on the street, I screech back as loud as I can, “I fucking love you too, Jackson!” It shakes me, how sincere I am, and my heart bursts.

Erebus meets my gaze in the mirror, but doesn't say anything, and returns to the road. I settle in my seat, camera and photo in my lap. I run my fingers over the slowly developing photo, smiling at it. I grab a pen from the mess of papers, binders, pens and erasers in the back with me – probably work papers – and scribble along the white strip at the bottom of the photo:

“ _I fucking love you too, Jackson!” - Teenage years_.

I hug it to my chest, leaning my head against the window: it's gonna be a long, long weekend.

* * *

*

**"I'M SICK OF THIS PLACE." - TEENAGE YEARS**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's done. Over. I've finished the long, convoluded, prolonged fic that is **MOTHER'S CAUTIONARY TALE**. God, this was long, and I loved writing every word of it, despite the writer's block that caught me sometimes and the parts where I fucked up on how to continue. 
> 
> Thanks for keeping up with me guys, it's been a pleasure writing for you. Next part of the series will (hopefully) be up soon, so that's cool. If you guys want it, anyways. Uh, I know I ended it a little strangely, but I hope you like it anyways, and get ready for a little bit of Grover and Annabeth in the next one, along with the long-awaited arrival of Bianca. First part will be, of course, with Nico away with Erebus for two to three days, and we'll see a little of how Nico treats family without his father's supervision. Anything you guys need me to clear up, or are you all caught up? Need anything, just ask me. Keep your eyes peeled for part two floating around somewhere - don't know what it's called yet, so try not to ask me, unless you have ideas. 
> 
> Love you guys, I hope to see you soon ^^

**Author's Note:**

> Ah yes, another fic with Bad Boy Nico and Pining Percy. I've had this in my head for a while, so yeah.Very long first chapter, because I need everybody introduced straight away to get this show off on the road, but I hope it isn't too overwhelming for you guys. 
> 
> Yes: I have blown Sally from the picture, dumping Percy in an awkward father-son relationship for this. I needed a transfer from Percy in New York to Percy having wonder int he face of Chill California, so eh. I find that CA and NY are pretty contrasting places (I'm from CA, visited NY a few times, duh,) and I thought it'd be cool to write a New Yorker being surrounded by Californians who are far more relaxed and chill about things. But anyways -
> 
> No, it's not Nicercy - you know when it's Nicercy, because I make Nico taller than Percy purely to make it a little clearer. This is Percico - I know I wrote Nico as tall (shorter than Percy,) but that's mainly because I like Tall!Nico headcannons, okay?
> 
> It took me a while to decide how the characters were going to act in this, because, yeah, I know they're majorly OOC, but I'm half-inspired by a multitude of games like Beyond Two Souls and Life Is Strange right now, and I'm majorly influenced by a number of dynamics and diversity in both games - uggggh. I might actually just do Percico Life Is Strange AU at some point to get it outta my system. 
> 
> Hope you enjoyed


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